


The Veil, Torn Asunder

by hanbeecoo



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, M/M, guys. . . guys i've had this idea for a year and a half now, i'm hannah and i like walks on the beach and slow burns, please read it give me a little chance ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29181186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanbeecoo/pseuds/hanbeecoo
Summary: "Mercy, for the poor wizened child."A group of researchers discover a creature with the face of a man, and the blood of a god.A woman washes ashore at a small fishing hamlet, seemingly mortal, but a clear purpose for her arrival.Based on the song 'Pink Lightning' by Purity Ring.A very random  yet specific AU where Great Ones could be mortal, if they so decided, as if to have the children they long for. Bear with me, this one's a bit of a stretch.
Relationships: Kos/OC, Orphan of Kos/OC
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	1. The Creature

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is. My mega-AU fic that revolves entirely around a mortal Orphan of Kos, and a mortal Kos. It's VERY weird and probably very lore-breaking, but I've had this idea for so, so long, I had to share it with a willing audience! This story is FRAUGHT with original characters, lore-interpretation, and lots of little mind-fucks that only a Bloodborne fic could produce. Stick with me through this slow-burn, crazy-ass story I've concocted, and I'll love you forever. Mild warnings for rape mention, violence, and just general mature themes. Will most likely have some sex bits, but I'll warn ya before they come about.  
> Also!!!!!! I have a fic playlist that I made for this! If you want to listen to some music that entirely inspired this fic. It's called TVTA, fic playlist  
> Check it out if you want!

An ancient power was once born of the ocean. 

  
When such a power bled into the waking world, thoughtless mortals turned to pilfer and plunder through the vast depths of the water beneath them, on their boats and at the shores, they were the first to discover it. The truth of what may lie just beyond that endless sky.   
  
It began with a small group of researchers - scholars that had once been a part of a larger sect, but had broken away from their predecessors. They had taken refuge in a tower, long lost to the tangled forests on the edge of the cities to the west. They kept to themselves, and hid away from those who would find their research. . . unseasonably atrocious. The spiral tower in the center of an overgrown field, now covered in a thick blanket of snow lay undisturbed, until a coterie of hooded figures emerged from the edge of the trees, snow clinging to the fabric of their cloaks and their legs tired and aching from the cold. They had cut a path through for them to come to and fro, with materials and whatever else they would need to transport. Behind them, a wooden cart was pulled.   
  
The creaking of the cart broke through the silence of the group, as one of the wheels caught on a rock, jostling the contents.   
  
"Careful!" exclaimed one man in front, and the man pulling the cart bared his teeth, pulling the cart harder.   
  
The frigid temperatures were very odd to the group, as when they had departed, there had been no snow on the ground at all. Patches of ice now made their traversing difficult, and the snow accumulation had doubled over the past few hours. As they reached the edge of the clearing, the one at the front of the group froze, raising a hand as if to silence the group. They all peered around nervously, as if waiting for some great creature to tear through the trees and attack them.   
  
The leader of the group stared at the edge of the covered wagon, listening for the shift beneath the thin sheets that he thought he had heard. He knew that the extraction had gone smoothly, and he was simply waiting for the tide to turn. The air even seemed to shift around them; growing colder; thicker. His skin crawled, as he looked away, waving his hand to continue their walk.   
  
There was an eerie calm that had settled over the group since their long trek back to their tower. It penetrated deeper than the cold, slithering its way into their hearts, their minds. A dull thrum in the mind of their leader kept him from fully gathering his thoughts. The man beside him, who still had bloodstains on his clothes, felt it even deeper than he could. As if there was something in his mind that he could suddenly not get out.   
  
The tower was hardly a modest one. Built from bricks and old stone, it stood higher than most of the trees around it, but still low enough that the naked eye could not see it from afar. It bore the architecture of their school, the place they had once called home before their research called them away to a more secluded area of practice, but it was still very different. The inside had a large, empty entrance hall, with a large spiraling staircase connected to a column in the center of the room that reached the ceiling. Stone and mahogany compiled the inside, with old, torn rugs on the floor and creaking wooden boards beneath. Research rooms took up the first floor, with the second being for living quarters. Above that, just wooden rafters and drafty broken windows, shedding bright light throughout the corridors. It had the faintest smell of old wood and the thick, acidic smell of burning chemicals and botched potions. The watery liquids in their flasks sat lined on shelves, ready to be plucked whenever they were needed. Surgical tools and research equipment were strewn haphazardly across any surface within the confined research chambers, and the metallic smell of blood was prevalent in the air, no matter where one went within the tower.   
  
A thick layer of snow had settled over the roof, as water had begun to erode the sidings of the windows and drip down onto the floor. A rat had taken up residence in the rafters, peering down at the group as they lugged the wagon inside, and shut the massive iron doors behind them. It squeaked inquisitively, before running away, catching the gaze of the blood-stained man. He raised a covered head, as the wagon rattled with sudden motion, startling the group.   
  
The first man in the group cursed, stepping away from the wagon with his hands raised. The man who had stopped to stare at the rat looked down, reaching for the weapon at his side.   
  
"It is bound," he assured the group, "bound enough."   
  
"Was it wise to bring it here?" asked a man from the back, as two hooded figures began to descend the steps towards the group, catching the attention of their leader. "What if it is dangerous?"   
  
The leader scoffed. "If it was dangerous, we would all be dead. Don't doubt so much." He turned towards the steps, as two researchers made their way to them, eyes wide and fixated on the wagon. In a show of a prideful nature, he patted the top of the wagon and grinned, shaking his head. "Not quite what we expected, but enough here. Hunter." The leader turned towards the man covered in blood. "Get it out and upstairs. Then, your payment."   
  
The Hunter let out a breathy note. He turned towards the wagon, his hands still feeling the crushingly heavy weight of the uniquely crafted scythe in his hands. He could still feel . . .   
  
It had all happened so fast.   
  
He tore the cover from the wagon and discarded it onto the ground, startling the researchers. They all stumbled back away from it - they all expecting something to come crawling out. But nothing had.   
  
The stillness in the wagon certainly did not lull the Hunter into thinking the creature within was asleep. He braced himself on the side and looked in, eyes narrowed. He backed up and tipped the cart over, dropping its contents onto the cold floor with a resounding thud.   
  
It was a figure that bore the likeness of a man. Face shrouded by a brown fabric bag, and hands bound behind its back, the head beneath the bag rattled and shook, as if cold and fearful all at once. Its feet kicked out, trying to regain its footing. The Hunter stood over it, using the tip of his boot to tip the creature onto its back.   
  
"What. . . is that?" asked one researcher to their leader, quietly, and the leader grimaced.   
  
"Not what anyone was expecting," he replied, "but enough to capture our attention."   


At his voice, the creature raised its shrouded head, shoulders arched like an alley cat that had noticed a mouse. Its entire body trembled, its head hitting the ground again. The Hunter stooped and pulled it to its feet, signaling to one of the researchers to help him. A man scrambled to the unoccupied side of the creature, and grabbed its arm. 

"What are going to do with it?" asked another researcher, and the leader looked down at them with an incredulous look.   
  
"Examine it. Don't you know what it is!?" declared the leader angrily, but another interjected.   
  
"We do not know what it is," hissed a researcher, who had been at their side for the entire journey.   
  
"You saw the blood of its companion!" the leader turned his attention back towards the bound and held creature, taking a step forward. He took a deep, slow breath. "Yes, I can smell it on you." He addressed the creature, but the creature grimaced away from him, leaning back instead towards the Hunter clutching it.   
  
There was a fleeting pause between all those in company, staring at one another as if waiting to feel the shift in the wind for themselves. The creature's pulse hammered in its ears, its mind racing to keep up with the atrocities that befell it in only a matter of hours. The leader seemed to get some kind of sick enjoyment out of the creature's cowering, while the other researchers feared that perhaps it was smart enough to lull them into a false sense of security.   
  
The Hunter tugged on its arm, and the creature let out an unruly growl from deep within its chest. The leader simply laughed, as if enjoying a show.   
  
"Let us take it to one of the rooms, and I will show you and your utter doubt what I reference." The leader had a very dark tone, for a very dark man. His voice was not a pleasant one, and bore an unfamiliar accent. He had dark hair, dark eyes and pale skin, and looked a bit sickly, and possibly much older than he actually was. He devoted, no doubt, the better parts of his life to his research, and it had begun to show in the wrinkles around his eyes. He intimidated the other researchers, as he could rival Willem himself in being intimidating.   
  
Pressing the palm of his hand against the creature's bicep, the Hunter pulled the unsuspecting thing towards the steps, finding little resistance as the creature could not get its footing. They dragged it towards the steps, the researcher at the other side of the creature groaning in protest, as he was much smaller than the creature.   
  
The leader walked to the head of the group, arms folded behind his back. "Curious," he said to the woman on his left. "So long we have been boastful in our research to no fruitful avail. Tonight could change this entirely. We could surpass even those who have studied with Byrgenwerth for decades."   
  
The woman beside him had honey colored eyes and black hair, pulled back in her hood. She walked at the same pace and tucked her arms behind her back as her leader did. "Willem sanctioned this study, our work. He would be pleased with such results, should we turn them in to him. . . Luther."   
  
Luther, the leader, turned his head towards her, a frown pulling at his lips. He did not want to entertain the thought that the creature behind them was simply a man. He also did not want to regret not taking the corpse on the beach with them. It was enough of a fight to take the fighting creature with them with only one Hunter. Quietly, Luther looked back over his shoulder at the creature, held between two bodies.   
  
Shackled hands trembled, as a strange electricity burned through clenched fingertips. The creature was metaphorically burning holes through the bag over its head, its glower turned towards Luther, who had taken such pride in felling the creature, though he had not raised a finger against it.   
  
At the top of the stairs, the woman beside Luther took the lead, opening the door to the first research room on their right. Two surgical tables were pushed together towards the left of the room, with a chair in the center with holes fit for shackling the creature to. The walls were lined with cabinets, all made from old wood and cracking glass, bearing flasks and beakers with varying liquids and bloods, all retrieved from both beasts and humans alike. There were torches about the room, giving off a very cold, flickering light that was not of much comfort. The room itself was frigid, despite having no windows leading outside. Broken glass still littered the floor from where a researcher had dropped a beaker after consuming what was inside. It was far easier to scrape what was left of her from the floor than it was to pick up the shattered pieces of glass.   
  
The thought of enlightenment through such easy means brought a smile to Luther. The woman who had died in this room days earlier had concocted what she thought would grant her audience with the Great Ones. He had watched in sick pleasure as the concoction of blood and melted watery quicksilver burned through her insides like a rapid poison, as she melted away before him. He knew that such a foolish, simple brew would not grant them an audience. Would not grant them eyes to see. Sedatives were placed at the ready in every room. He could feel the prickling in the back of his head again, though this time it felt warmer, and sounded more like voices. Being near the creature caused such a strange feeling to accost him - one that he could hardly fathom.   
  
The Hunter dropped the creature onto the chair, before walking behind it and securing its hands to the back of the chair, sitting it up straighter. It raised its head, turning it from side to side, fingertips feeling the sides of the chair. They could feel its fear radiating off of it, as it trembled in the seat before them.   
  
The Hunter stepped away, turning towards Luther. "I've done my part. Whatever you wish to do from here is your own business."   
  
Luther patted the Hunter's shoulder. "A few coins for the trouble, Loran-Hunter. I'm sure you've faced far more fearsome a foe than those you felled yesterday." From his cloak, Luther produced a small bag of golden coins and dropped it into the Hunter's palm.  
  
The Hunter grunted in thanks, securing his hat on his head before making his way back towards the door. His mind still lay with the frail, dead figure on the rocks, eyes open and staring at him in utter shock. . .   
  
Such human eyes. . .   
  
Luther stepped forward. At the doorway, a timid researcher had appeared, having heard the commotion from his research nook. He peered inside the room, arms folded tightly across his chest.   
  
"Out of the way," muttered a bull-headed researcher as he shoved past the timid man. "Luther! Is this it?!"   
  
Luther was leaned close to the covered creature's face, head tilting in morbid curiosity. The creature's skin was pallid and cold to the touch. It even felt a bit. . . slimy. Luther had almost forgotten what the creature actually looked like. He raised a hand and placed it on the shroud, pulling it roughly from the creature's head.   
Wild, wide eyes as blue as the ocean met his, frantically scanning the room. Unfamiliar and unfriendly faces met the creature, as it pressed itself against its seat, fearful of the strange men around it.   
  
"Luther. . ." said the timid researcher quietly from the back. "That is a man."   
  
Luther looked over his shoulder with a burning glower at the timid man. "Nonsense! Look in its eyes, you will see. It is far from a man. It does not smell like a man, nor would I say, does it bleed like a man."   
  
The creature grimaced. A jeer rose over the researchers like a pack of wolves, and Luther grinned again. The timid man had little else to say. He stepped down in the room, and walked forward to get a better look at the creature in the chair.   
  
Pale skin; blue eyes; thick, black hair lying almost in curls around its gaunt, fair face; a grim expression on its face, as it tried desperately to deduce where it was and what was going on. Had it just been a simple man, those around it would have thought it to be very handsome in a unique sort of way, but they knew better. The creature was one of immense power, and possibly the key to their communion.   
  
The gruff researcher stepped forward. He took one look at the creature and scoffed. "That? That is just a man, posing as a great creature. Its harmless and terrified. Look at it!" Leaning closer to the creature, he hissed, "I can smell your fear, little creature."   
  
The creature's lip curled.   
  
"Provoke it, Benedict, and we may never commune," said the woman beside Luther. "Taunting our research has gotten us nowhere. We must begin with our test."   
  
Benedict grinned darkly. "Oh, I will gladly do this test. I've asked that bloody Hunter to give me a weapon countless times, I've fared well enough making things bleed."   
  
"Yet he has never taken you up on your offers," said the woman, coolly.   
  
"Yuina," said Luther, "retrieve the surgical knife from the table. Perhaps there is a method to Benedict's abrasive nature."   
  
The timid researcher moved to the corner of the group, getting a better look at the bound creature. It overwhelmed him in an instant, just staring at it. Behind blue irises, he could see a swirling, endless whirlpool in a vast, dark ocean. He felt his stomach turn, as if he were dropped into the center, helplessly spinning about in a circle. He could feel cold hands on him, a wet, sticky water enveloping him. His mind churned uncomfortably with each thought, as he grasped the table beside of him, feeling rather faint. Beyond the cold abyss, he felt a shift in the air around him, as the creature raised its head to look at him. All of the abysmal tyranny on his mind had ceased, and left in the creature's eyes was an undeniable pain - one that the researcher knew well, and that made him feel something stir deep within him. Something he knew to be pity.   
  
He could not tell if it was a physical pain, or a mental one, but he felt it, cold and dull all over him when that creature looked at him. It looked away quickly, back to Yuina, who had begun laying out surgical tools on the table beside it. Each tool was fashioned with surgery in mind, all brutally sharp and curved. Yuina ran her fingertips across the handle of one, looking up at the creature.   
  
"I wonder if it feels pain," she inquired darkly, her eyes connecting with it.   
  
The creature tilted its head away from her, towards the wall across the room. The timid researcher slowly pushed his way to the front of the group, past Benedict, who was verbally urging Yuina to cut the creature tied to the chair. The researcher ached to look into the creature's eyes again, as he felt closer to the cosmos when he did. He despised the thought of them cutting into him just to see its blood.   
  
Luther walked towards Yuina and took the surgical knife from her, and stepped in front of the creature. It raised its head towards him, icy blue eyes with veins a deep, cold blue instead of a warm red. It looked so incredibly human, it gave Luther pause. He stared down at the creature, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, churning and grimacing. He reached forward, knife in tow, and the creature pulled its body in the confines, away from the weapon.   
  
The timid researcher's stomach lurched.   
  
"Now, now, let's not be naughty," said Luther, chuckling. The mixture of terror and anger in the creature's eyes simply fueled the leader's fire.   


He leaned forward, silver glinting in the cold lamplight of the room, and pressed the blade against pale skin, relishing in the bared teeth and grimace from the creature, or perhaps more relishing in the beautiful stream of whitish silver blood that poured in thin lines from the wound, down the creature's arm and leg, pooling onto the floor like a thick, heavy syrup. All eyes watching it widened in awe, as their research had so long sought out the vision before them.  
  
The blade left in the deep, gushing wound, having struck a purple vein, the blood hemorrhaging almost sickly. The creature's eyes burned in righteous fury, as it pushed them shut and turned its head away, lips turned in a grimace.   
  
Luther stepped forward, reaching down and pressed his fingertips into the creature's wound, producing the blood on his fingertips. He turned towards the group, another cruel intentioned smile tugging at thin lips.   
  
"Paleblood," said Luther.   
  
"Then it's true!" Benedict shoved a small researcher away from him. "We needn't the entrails of a Great One, we need only its blood! And now we have it. I would happily be the first to taste of such insight. . .!"   
  
Luther cast a disapproving look at him, shaking his head fiercely. "Your mind may collapse upon itself like a city on sand. You need to keep you wits, or lack there of, about you. We must study it first --,"   
  
The timid researcher looked back at the pained creature in the chair, wondering what hell they would bring upon their heads, having a Paleblood being entrapped in their research halls. Whether or not it was truly a Great One was no longer relative. They still had ascertained the creature from another, and he need not fill in the blanks. He did not wish to know what sins were committed to bring this creature there.  
  
Those standing at the back of the group watched on as Benedict walked forward and pulled the blade from the creature's vein, and sat it on the table. He pressed his fingertips into the wound and pulled a heap of the blood out onto his hand, bringing it to his nose, he inhaled. It had no odor to it, much unlike human or beast blood that held a metallic, copper scent. Willem had made them swear they would not take of the blood. That they would fear it. But, he certainly did not mean Paleblood, should they find it. . .   
  
And they had.   
  
"Bring me a vial," requested Benedict, and Luther shook his head, laughing at the audacity of the researcher. "I've waited years for this moment, I will not let a single more minute pass by!"  
  
His dramatics perhaps were warranted, but that certainly did not ease the mind of the timid researcher. He knew they had no regard for anything but their own enlightenment, but the thought of divulging their desires and ingesting the creature's blood, bleeding him like a common pig, made him ill. The blatant lack of regard was one that would certainly not go unnoticed by other Great Ones. . . or by those with a conscience. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, taking a slow, deep breath. He wanted to speak up, but he couldn't find his voice. His mind still lay with that abyss within the creature's eyes. He had so many questions, all of which would go without answer if they killed it. Perhaps talking to it. . .   
  
But, did it even talk? Would it talk to them? Whatever had transpired out in the snow certainly left an impact on it. It would not regard them in any way, except in the intense glower it would throw those who hurt it. And the fear in its eyes. Like a cornered animal, hair raised and hissing, it certainly knew what was happening.   
  
The timid researched was pulled from his thoughts, as Benedict shoved past him and snatched a vial from the cabinet against the wall. The man was taller than he was, so shoving past him was easy, and it seemed Benedict took pleasure in shoving away people smaller than him. Turning the vial over in his hand, he made sure it was empty and dry, and walked over to the creature. He sat the vial down on the table just by it, turning it a few times.   
  
A few murmurs raised amongst the researchers in the back of the group. They ranged from speculation that the creature truly was Paleblood, and what that would mean for them. Some even recommended bringing the creature before those still at Byrgenwerth's school and Willem, but decided against it until they had palpable evidence of enlightenment. They needed to return with something that they knew would give them the ability to walk a measure with the gods. . . something that would change their world as they knew it. It seemed to always come down to men wanting to be play god, even with those just wanting knowledge. It made the timid researcher sick, as he had been exposed so many times to their brash, disregarding nature.   
  
"Look!" cried Yuina, pointing at the creature. "It's stopped bleeding. How's it done that?"   
  
"Hmph!" Luther shook his head. "Now, we must still have a drip about here somewhere, yes? Needle the creature, draw its blood. Then, Benedict, if you still feel so led, you may raise your vial of blood and see what transpires. We can have scribe nearby to write everything that you see. . ."  
  
Yuina scrambled to find her set of needles, while Luther turned towards the timid researcher, shaking his head as if completely disappointed in him. He had a way of doing that.   
  
"Come here, boy. Stop lurking. What do you see when you look at the creature?" asked Luther, arms tightly crossed behind his back.   
  
He pursed his lips, looking back over at the creature, who would not look at him. When he met Luther's gaze again, he cleared his throat. "I see a man."   
  
"A man," repeated Luther. "Some man. Its blood is pale as snow. It is Kin."  
  
He, thought the researcher, feeling pity for the lack of respect for the creature. It did resemble a man, yes, but he supposed he did not know what the creature preferred to be called. He knew nothing of what the creature was like, and he would never be given the chance to learn. "We could. . . try and communicate--,"   
  
Luther shook his head, chuckling quietly. "No, no. We cannot. It will not talk. Do you not want eyes, boy? Do you not want to be shown what the gods know? What the cosmos has to offer? Are we not deserving for our patient and thought out research?!"  
  
He said nothing. Lowering his head, he wished to just end the conversation entirely. He stepped away from Luther, towards the back of the muttering group.   
  
Yuina returned with her needles, Benedict behind her with a drip. Sliding the metal pole up beside the creature, he prodded its arm again, and the creature winced. It took Yuina little time at all to set up a slender tube from the bag hanging off the pole to a thick, large needle, and embed the needle into the creature's exposed vein. It let out a very low growl from deep in its chest, startling a few of the researchers. Yuina leaned back sharply, eyes wide and slender hands curling against her palms.   
  
Luther stepped between them, pressing a fingertip against the needle beneath its skin. "You haven't a right to make a sound. Soon, we will know what you know." He seemed to have no issue with staring down the creature, but that was easy to do when the creature was tied down to a chair. The timid researcher wondered if perhaps, it truly was a Kin, it had not killed them all by then.   
  
They all watched with baited breath, as the bag filled with the whitish blood. Cold air swirled around the room as though someone had opened a window. The timid researcher prayed that they had not enacted some kind of fury from the gods, had they truly taken one of their own. He thought of that recurring dream he had, swallowed by a black ocean. He thought about the endless abyss the creature had shown him when he looked it in the eyes. Perhaps they correlated. Perhaps that creature held the answers he so desperately searched for.   
  
It was Benedict who tore the bag from its place to fill the empty vial with it. The creature watched him with narrow, knowing eyes. It was at that moment of watching it, that the researcher noticed, beside blue irises, it looked as though the veins of its eyes were. . . moving. Slithering, moving, twisting. It made him feel ill.   
  
Benedict turned towards Luther, raising the vial. "Today, we may become gods. We may drink of ambrosia and awaken closed eyes within our own minds. We may Know, finally."   
  
Luther looked proud, watching the bull-headed man place the vial against his lips, and down every last drop of silver blood, before standing, motionless, waiting for that defining moment.   
  
Silence.   
  
Benedict frowned. He looked as though he may say something, but that something never came. His entire body lurched, a horrid, twitching motion, as though spasms wracked every nerve ending. His fingers twisted and bent, as did his legs, sickening cracks and groans of bones, his body suddenly pulpous and watery. His skin had begun to seethe and almost bubble, creating small pockets on top of his skin like a rash. He opened his mouth, and a thick, clear white liquid had begun to pour from it, as he tried to gurgle out some kind of words. His eyes had begun to cloud, rolling into the back of his head, as what looked like small, thin wormlike creatures began to burrow into the soft flesh of his eyeballs. The hives on his skin began to burst one by one, each teeming with the small worm creatures, that had begun to devour his skin with the speed and ferocity of a bloodthirsty beast. His body convulsed and writhed, and the cacophony of flesh being devoured by the worms, and the gurgling of what was left of the man before them, would be something not a single person in that room could ever forget. And when the ravaged, torn body of Benedict was discarded and devoured by the worms, a torn pile of clothes and what looked like a few bones and a smashed skull was left on the floor, along with a pile of bile from one of the researchers who could not fathom the sight.   
  
The silence that fell amongst the researchers was deafening. The ringing in their ears, the horrid, watery and grotesque sounds. . . the sights alone. . .   
  
Luther looked over in shock at the creature in its seat. Its startling blue eyes, with its defensive parasites swimming about around them, did something that shook their leader to the core.   
  
It grinned. 

  
____________________________________________________________________________________________ 

  
Along the peaceful coastline of a long forgotten stretch of forest, lay a little fishing hamlet, with only a population of less than fifty. It was a place that would not be talked about in fairytales, nor discussed at royal parties. It was modest and mundane, with a mundane group of fishermen and their wives and husbands. They would catch fish to sell at markets in cities far away from their little nook of the world. They would send whalers out on their larger boats for their blubber, and create oil from it, using that to keep warm in the brutal winters, and sell them along with their fish. They had a massive mine that had been carved into the rocky hillsides, where they mined strange little slug-like creatures for their wax and oil-like properties.   
  


There was one such man named Silas who lived there, and he was certainly the most mundane of them all. He had been to war not four years earlier, sustaining a wound both mental and physical, that led him far away from that civilization, to that small fishing hamlet along the coast. He had been welcomed by the unique inhabitance, as it seemed everyone had their own story. Some were rough, quiet and occasionally angry, but they still at least regarded each other. Others were peaceful and kind, welcoming despite their jaded pasts. The little hamlet had no government, had no one they truly answered to, and Silas preferred it that way. He had been under the thumb of one such tyrant before, he wished not to do so again.   
  
The hamlet did have shamans, one such was an older man who taught Silas of the Great Ones, and their compassionate natures and divine wills. He taught Silas of the Pthumerians, once living amongst Great Ones as equals, until something unbeknownst to him separated them, and the Great Ones ascended to a plane out of sight from mortals. The shaman taught Silas much, so much that the two became very close. Silas viewed the shaman as a father, and regarded him with an utmost respect.   
  
Silas, instead of creating fuel for a fire, created candles, fragranced with flowers that grew just outside of the hamlet, in a small field just shy of the dense forests beyond. His candles had such beautiful and calming scents, he would burn them at all hours of the day when he was in his home, and would have the inhabitance of the town peek inside his windows just to smell. Frequently, he would wander out past the forests, a dangerous trek indeed, to sell his candles to traveling merchants for money. But, he would always return to the coast.   
  
He walked from his house early one morning, the warm, humid summer days dwindling away to cool autumn mornings and colder nights. He had his fishing net over his shoulders, rubber boots squelching beneath moistened ground. He had a signature grin on his face, welcoming the day with a skip in his step. He was a positive and warm person, who everyone loved to be around. He greeted everyone with a pleasant tone and demeanor, even early in the morning as the sun was beginning to ascend over the ocean. A thick cover of clouds overwhelmed the sky, as it normally was. It was rare that they saw the sun, and Silas had always wondered why that was. It knew it would begin to negatively impact him never seeing the sun, but he was willing to take the chance to stay in the Hamlet.   
  
He raised his head to the lightly wooded path before him, his trek taking him down a rocky hillside where a mine was being worked to the core. Vines climbed the old wood building that sat just before the entrance to the mines. He could hear workers inside, chatting and working, despite the quietness of the morning. He opted to take the man-made lift that sat at the back of the house, rather than descend the multitude of ladders inside the mine itself to reach the little cove he liked to spend his days in.   
  
Inside of the little wooden cabin, the heavy smell of sweat and earth filling the air. It certainly didn't smell as terrible as the houses just below, that were mostly filled with fish, but it was fairly sickening. Silas had gotten quite used to the smell of fish, he could never grow accustomed to the sweaty bodies and earthy smell of the mines. He nodded to the men inside, shouldering his nets and spears a bit better.   
  
"Alright, Silas?" asked a worker, a gruff man, but a good one at heart.   
  
Silas grinned at him, turning his head towards the lift. "Mind if I take the elevator? Going to that little section of beach again. I find the most fish there, even though its secluded."   
  
"Well, perhaps it is brimming with fish because it's secluded," offered the man with a grin. "Help yourself. Watch your step in the ice caves."   
  
Silas bid him farewell, before entering the room with the lift and beginning his descent. Tired already, he dropped the items he had on his shoulder onto the lift and raised his head to stretch his neck. Another long day of fishing lay ahead of him. He wished instead he could simply make candles all day, and sit in his warm house surrounded by the fresh scent of flowers and herbs.   
  
His home was where he felt most comfortable. Being a homebody by nature had its perks, but the hatred he had for spending time away from his house frequently conflicted with his desire to be outside in fresh air. And as much as he loved talking to the other inhabitance of the Hamlet, he enjoyed his time alone, despite his thoughts often betraying him.   
  
He had been to war, after all. His thoughts were often occupied with the brutalities he faced. The friends he had lost.   
  
When his mind reminded him of such atrocities, throwing himself into a busy day's work of fishing, candle-making, or perhaps drawing, was his best way to combat it. He wished that he had never taken up arms against anyone. His pacifist nature had entirely taken over him, and he felt himself unable to face the world outside the Hamlet, for it was just as violent as he remembered.   
  
His skin cold and wracked with shivers already, the lift came upon the icy caves just before the secluded stretch of beach. He raised his head, his eyes following the bluish nature-made roof above his head. He exhaled, and his breath drifted up around him, the faint crackling of shifting ice deep within the cavern filled his ears.   
  
It was a short, narrow crevice that opened up to the grey light outside once again. The stretch of beach was wide, and the ocean beyond it was vast and seemingly endless. A great comfort filled Silas when he laid eyes upon the crashing waves of the surf, the heavy scent of salt and sand met him. The clouds gathered over the ocean threatened a storm, but the light breaking through the clouds just at the edge of the rocky cliffside danced on the surface of the water, its beauty difficult to describe with simple words.   
  
Silas inhaled deeply, shutting his eyes as he greeted the ocean, the thing that brought him so much comfort, and reopening his eyes to stare at the noisy, breaking surf.   
  
A surge of water caught on something lying just at the edge of where the waves were breaking. A figure, covered in white, lying with their back to him. He blinked several times, as if in disbelief of what he was seeing.   
  
If it was a person, he assumed they were dead. But, perhaps it was not a person at all, but a large piece of fabric caught up in a log. . . but he was doubting that more and more.   
  
He dropped the shouldered equipment and jogged down the rocky beach, sliding himself to a halt when he reached the body. Dropping to his knees, he noticed immediately it was, in fact, a body. He turned the body onto its back, and his eyes fell to the calm, slumbering visage of a woman. With pale skin and dark hair, gathered in a long, flowing bunch beneath the water, and a fair face that looked completely at peace, as if nothing had ever disturbed her before. Gravel and sand stuck to one side of her face, and Silas reflexively wiped it off, his hand lingering against her cheek. She was cold to the touch. So cold, he thought she was already deceased.   
  
Pulling her gently from the water, he laid her down away from the breaking waves, her head propped up on a log embedded in the ground. He lowered his head, his ear pressed against her chest. He could hear a strong heartbeat, lingering just beneath her skin, and he exhaled, relief flooding him.   
  
He leaned back again, staring down at the figure. She was not familiar, not in the least. Her face, though fair, did not look like the women he had met in his travels. Her hair was long, cascading down far past the center of her back, and was so dark it was almost black. Most women he had met had light hair. Her skin was so pale, it made the bluish veins of her arms stand out that much more. She had curve to her body, and was dressed in a thick, white gown that wasn't like anything Silas had seen before. He found it oddly formal, which was certainly strange for a woman who washed up on the shore of a Fishing Hamlet.   
  
He elected to leave his net and spear on the ground, and picked up the fainted woman in his arms. He had a harder time not tripping over the long fabric of the dress clinging to her, soaking wet and making her heavier than he imagined she actually was. Gathered up in his arms, Silas began to walk carefully and quickly back the way he had come, being mindful of the woman's lulled head. He didn't wish to hurt her, as he cautiously carried her like a newborn. Her head turned, the first time he had seen her move of her own accord, her face pressed against his arm, before going limp again. Her cold body sent a chill down his spine, causing him to shiver the entire way back to the lift.   
  
He feared perhaps she had escaped a slavery ship, looking to deposit her in the nearest city to the highest bidder. Or perhaps she had been cast overboard, in hopes she may die in the arms of the sea. Or maybe she was simply on a little boat that capsized, and she ended up washed ashore, as if by some trick of fate. Hopefully she would awake, and he would have his answers.   
When the lift came back up to the little wooden house, it was vacated of all the miners that had been there earlier. Silas took a deep breath, and began his walk back to the Hamlet's heart, knowing precisely who to go to.   
  
There was a house that sat just a few doors down from his, shrouded by a thick layer of vines, with a little garden just out front. How the owner of the house got anything to grow was far beyond Silas, but he managed it nonetheless. He drew several eyes as he walked through the Hamlet to that house, watching his step on the muddy ground beneath his boots. The figure in his arms had not stirred since the simple movement of her head, and her breathing had shallowed. He wondered if she had suffered some form of internal injury, and if so, how he could help her.   
  
He reached the house, though did not bother knocking. He stepped inside, as he was always welcomed in the house of the Shaman.   
  
The house was filled with candles that were of Silas' making. He had specifically made those for the Shaman and his endless wisdom, as there were many scents that helped the Shaman to concentrate as he was doing his work. The Shaman was no doctor, but rather a religious figure of sorts, that kept all things and people in the Hamlet grounded. A warm sort, with a knowledge Silas could never fathom. He had seen things otherwise unseen to a simple mortal.   
  
The Shaman was standing in his kitchen, brewing tea when Silas entered. The shifting of floorboards caught his attention, and he turned his finally uncloaked head towards the sound. Warmly, he grinned, his eyes disappearing behind a sea of wrinkles. However, when he saw the ailed woman in Silas' arms, his smile faded.   
  
"Shaman," said Silas, his voice cracking as he was quite out of breath. "A woman has washed ashore on the beach. I haven't a clue who she is, but I think she's hurt."   
  
"By Kos," said the Shaman, his voice as warm as his face. He had a rather raspy, accented voice, but it still was a nice one to listen to, and not at all harsh. He was tall and old, with narrow, dark eyes and a warm aura that drew in just about anyone. "Down in the cove?"   
  
"Yes," replied Silas. He looked over as the Shaman walked to the room next to the kitchen.   
  
"Come, bring her here. I've a bed she can sleep upon," called the Shaman, "I shall inspect her."   
  
Silas followed, the woman's long dress wrapping around his leg once more. The little room was lit with a warm candlelight, but had a dampness of the outside that did not help Silas' already freezing skin. He could smell whatever the Shaman had put in his tea, and it made him sleepy.  
  
He rested the woman down on the bed. In the candlelight, her skin was beginning to take more color, becoming flushed and even a bit tan. Little beads of sweat began to dot her forehead, as the warmth from the room collided with her icy flesh. Still, she slumbered away, unmoving. Her breathing had begun to pick up once more, her chest moving heavily with each steady breath.   
  
"She's not from here," said Silas, looking over his shoulder at the Shaman. "A foreigner, no doubt. She doesn't share the likeness of any local I've seen. Not even the merchants."   
  
The Shaman had left the room, and when he returned, he held a small ceramic pot in his hands. Whatever was inside smelled faintly of lavender and another freshly picked plant from the garden out front. A soothing blend he had concocted. "No, she does not," agreed the Shaman, looking down at her. The way he inspected her with his eyes made Silas feel as though she may be more than just a simple girl, washed ashore. As if the Shaman recognized her, if only for a moment.   
  
"She could have escaped a slaver's ship," offered Silas, as the Shaman raised a hand just above her chest, as if feeling her heartbeat without touching her. "Or. . . capsized in a boat. I'm unsure where else she could have come from."   
  
The Shaman had a most pensive look upon his face. His hand dropped down to gently pluck her hand from the bedside, turning it over in his palm. She had what looked like some kind of branding of a crescent moon in her wrist, along with a star close by to it. Silas had never seen something like that before, and he stared at it in confusion. The Shaman laid his fingertips against it, before laying her hand back down.   
  
"What is that?" asked Silas.   
  
"Perhaps we should ask her, when she wakes." The Shaman walked from the room, back to the kitchen.   
  
"Sh-Shaman!" Silas jogged after him, though it was wildly unnecessary to do so. "What are we going to do?"   
  
"I am going to finish my tea," said the Shaman. "And make some more, should she wake and desire some. Can I get you anything?"   
  
Silas exhaled, the question seemingly too difficult to answer. He stared at the Shaman, before his eyes fell back to the slumbering woman on the bed. “. . .I believe I will just sit with her for now, Shaman. She has no one to stay at her bedside with her until she wakes.”  
  
“I would expect nothing less from you, Silas,” replied the Shaman warmly. He could, from the moment he met Silas, could sense a goodness within him that many men did not possess. A compassion that flowed through him like the blood in his veins. It left the old Shaman speechless.  
  
And so, Silas sat. He had pulled up an old wooden chair from beside its table, and sat down, watching the rise and fall of the woman’s stomach with each breath. Her peaceful visage only provoked more questions in his mind, as he tried to imagine what in the world she was doing in the ocean.   
  
Perhaps, it was none of his business.  
  
However, being as he was, his curiosity got the better of him, and he slid his chair closer, cautiously lifting the woman’s hand from off her torso, and inspected the tattoo on her wrist. He had never seen anything like that before. It reminded him of a tapestry that hung in his house. He ran his thumb over it, the skin not raised as though it were a brand, but it seemed to be beneath her skin, like a birthmark. The tip of his thumb traced the edge of the crescent moon, her skin still pallid and cold. He laid her hand nicely upon her again, leaning back in his seat.   
  
The Shaman returned to the room, and sat a cup of tea beside Silas, and he looked up at him. “My boy. In times of distress, I call to Lady Kos. She may have the answers you seek, if you worry about the young woman before us. I’ve made a prayer cairn, would you like to place it within the room?”  
  
Silas thought about this. He believed in the Great Ones and their elusive, strange nature. The Shaman had prayed to one called Kos for as long as Silas had known him. Silas himself felt trepidation, and prayer scarcely helped him. He nodded once, then followed it up with a rapid succession of nods, looking over at the Shaman. “I can burn a candle. Perhaps she likes lavender.”  
  
The Shaman grunted, ambling from the room to return with a cairn in his arms, sitting it on the table beside the sleeping woman. “Lady Kos smiles upon those compassionate towards those of our own kind. She certainly smiles upon you, Silas.”  
  
Silas shook his head. “I doubt the gods waste their time on me. There are others who need their attention more.”  
  
The Shaman leaned against his tall walking stick he seldom used anymore. “We accept all things.”  
  
“And all things that can be,” finished Silas, looking up at the Shaman, “yes I remember.”  
  
“Have no fear. Let us see what the stranger brings with her rise.”  
  
Silas’ eyes fell back to her, and would remain there for days to come.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

The echoing of Luther’s endless pacing reverberated through the walls of the research hall, as he struggled to muster any kind of answer to the atrocity he had just witnessed. His mind would never fully recover from the brutality of Benedict’s murder, despite part of him understanding that Benedict truly deserved it for being so bloody foolish. Before he had left the room, he had taken a knife to the creature’s leg, the blade going all the way to the hilt. He had threatened it— reminded it who the leader was.   
  
He feared what wrath he would invoke by doing so.  
  
It was why they could never return to Byrgenwerth, not fully. They had to be their own sect, their own cluster. They sought immortality, and they would kill to get it.   
  
Infinite knowledge. . . That was a tantalizing offer.   
  
Luther had lost control, if only for a second. Perhaps the creature would kill them all. Or, if it was connected to the gods, the Great Ones, they would all draw attention for their mistreatment. . . however they were yet to be struck down, so Luther would assume the Great Ones cared little.  
  
One such researcher, the timid man who looked down on the torture of the creature, waited until Luther’s footsteps grew far away, before re-entering that dismal little research room, his hands ringing at his sides.  
  
The creature’s head was hung, his thick, black hair covering his pale, human face. The researcher took an unsteady step forward, the floorboards creaking loudly beneath his weight. He grimaced, as the creature’s head raised, those untamed blue eyes sending an involuntary chill up his spine. He inhaled, quickly pushing the hood from his head.   
  
“I-. . . I am not here to hurt you.” He raised his hands slowly, and the creature lowered his head once more. The researcher peered down at the knife protruding from the creature’s leg. Sickly enough, Luther had not removed it, rather leaving it to watch the whitish blood pour from the wound. The creature’s leg was shaking, a subtle spasm steadily getting worse.   
  
“I. . . cannot apologize enough for their behavior. I’m disgusted,” he told the creature, though he still wasn’t sure he could understand him. “Benedict, he. . . he deserved whatever you did to him. He was a cruel man, yes. He learned that from Luther. . .” he trailed off, his eyes finding the glass beakers lining the walls. Two were filled with the creature’s blood.   
  
He took another step forward, his hand reaching for the knife’s hilt, and the creature let out what sounded eerily like a growl. He retracted his hand quickly, tucking it behind him.  
  
“That— it’ll get infected. Let me remove it,” beseeched the researcher, but the creature turned his head away. “I’m not my colleagues. Not even Byrgenwerth could atone for these cruelties.” That, maybe, was a lie. Byrgenwerth cared for research and knowledge, and little else. Luther may have been a fanatic, but the researcher saw no difference between him and Willem. . .   
  
He had met that man only twice. A strange man that spoke in circles, as if he had already seen what lay on the other side of godhood and knowledge.  
  
Quietly, the researcher stepped back, turning towards the door. He knew he could not get close to the creature, for the creature did not trust him. Truthfully, he found the creature terrifying in his own way, but not any more dreadful than the men and women he researched with. Watching a man be entirely devoured by parasites was incredibly disgusting, yes, but the researcher was simply in awe of the creature’s ability. Whatever else he could do, the researcher prayed he did not find out whilst still his enemy.   
  
Regardless, the researcher walked forward again, against the wishes of the creature, who slinked back against his chair, grimacing in what the researcher could only describe as fear. The researcher reached forward and grabbed the hilt of the knife, wincing when he saw the pain flash in the eyes of the entrapped creature. He slowly removed the blade, discarding it onto the table beside them, staring at the bubbling wound. The thick, silver liquid made him nauseous, as he swore he could now see the tiny, wormlike parasites swimming about, waiting to devour. Vertigo taking him in a wave, he backed away from the creature.  
  
And upon him, another strange sight— a looming moon, its light engulfing him. A figure, just in the corner of his eyes, arms outstretched and shrouded with a bright golden light. A warm, familiar light. Then, it seeped itself in darkness, and in its place was a rotted field, every blade of grass devoured by the parasites. Everything was dead, and he could feel the ravenous anger and terror burning through the creature.   
  
He could feel a sort of emptiness that he wished to never feel again.  
  
In a blink, it was all gone.   
  
The researcher stumbled, falling against the shelves to his left. “What. . . What have you done to me?” he asked, but the creature simply looked away. He thought, for a moment, that he was poisoned.   
  
However, he had felt warmth at first. He had felt happiness, if not a touch of confusion. He did not find the vision to be threatening, but rather inviting. Like the call of a siren on the sea. Calmly, the researcher gathered himself, his arms wrapped around his torso, eyes looking over to the door. He took a slow, deep breath, before leaving the room to find gauze or something to help staunch the bleeding.   
  
As soon as he entered the hall, Luther awaited him, arms tucked behind his back.  
  
“Admiring a murderer, Simeon?” asked Luther, and Simeon grimaced.  
  
“We provoked him.”  
  
“It,” emphasized Luther. “That is no man.”  
  
Simeon wanted to argue with the man, but he was not brave enough. He looked back over his shoulder, the creature still slumped in his seat. When Simeon looked back, he shook his head. “Benedict knew the risks. He was foolish.”  
  
“I concur,” said Luther. “However, I would have done the same thing if I was a man of his bravery and lack of tact. We’ve waited so long for Paleblood, only to be once more blocked by a barricade of parasitic worms. You may not be as frustrated as we, but I see that curiosity in you. You may yet be helpful to us.”  
  
Simeon had a terrible feeling about what Luther could mean. He pulled his cloak around him. “I know nothing. I was purchased, not tested, I hardly belong here.”  
  
“Nonsense.” Luther waved his hand dismissively. “If you are so compassionate towards the creature in that room, patch it up. Lower its defense. Get its knowledge, its blood. Simeon. Look at me. This is a command: earn the trust of the creature. Tear down its walls and report back to us ANYTHING you find.”  
  
Simeon’s stomach churned. He crossed his arms over his chest, shutting his eyes tight as if to process what Luther was saying.  
  
“No,” was Simeon’s response. “I won’t betray trust. Trust is all some people in this world have.”  
  
The rage in Luther’s face was evident, but thankfully he had the tact to not put a knife in Simeon’s leg. He shook his head, clapping a hand on his shoulder, slowly steering him towards his study. “We all must do things we don’t wish to, Simeon, that much is life. You understand this?”  
  
Simeon shook his head. “It’s beyond that, Luther. We need only ask him for answers, gently. We needn’t torture him.”  
  
“That’s what I’m proposing!” Luther grinned, but it was less happy, and far more manic.   
  
Simeon despised every inch of Luther’s plan. He shook his head, but was pulled along regardless. He wished anyone else would have been asked to enact such subterfuge. He couldn’t bring himself to lie to someone, no matter what that someone was.   
  
"Come now. We will discuss this in my study. I've summoned Yuina. With any luck, she may have ideas on how to make the most of our most recent guest's tainted blood." Luther kept a firm hand on Simeon's shoulder, not giving him much of a choice.   
  
Quietly, the timid researcher named Simeon followed his overseer to the very end of the hallway, and up a flight of narrow steps. He could not stop thinking about the figure in his strange vision, and the overall feeling that had settled within him from the creature. He also could not get the creature's endless blue eyes from his mind, either.   
  
He looked so human. He had to be human. It was the only thing that made sense to Simeon. He was a human that somehow has Paleblood within him, like some lost god. Perhaps he was Pthumerian, though he did not share the likeness of one. All of Simeon's questions could be adequately answered, if only he could just speak to the creature as normal humans would. He felt as though he was doing the creature a great disservice by allowing them to even discuss what to do with him, like some common animal. Simeon, as he often did, wished he was no longer an extended part of Byrgenwerth.   
  
"You still say Willem sanctions this research, right?" asked Simeon quietly, his hands shaking once more. He hid them in his sleeves so that Luther did not see.   
  
"Byrgenwerth is not held by petty rules," said Luther. "We hired a Hunter, we've accepted what he brought back for us. We followed only a dry rumor, Simeon, and look what we've found."   
  
"A half-human with blood we cannot touch." Yuina's voice caught Simeon off guard. "Oh, yes. Paleblood. Teeming with parasites that devour anything that comes near it. . . perhaps we need a workaround."   
  
Luther opened the door to his study and allowed Simeon and Yuina to walk inside. His study was cold and dismal, lit up by only a few torches and low burning candles. It seemed he did not mind the darkness. Parchment lay on the desk, some of it rolled up for the garbage, and some of it had only gibberish scratched onto the surface.   
  
"Why is he here?" asked Yuina angrily, her eyes meeting Simeon's.   
  
Luther laughed. "He feels for the creature, it would seem."   
  
Yuina shook her head, looking up at the bookcases lining Luther's walls. "A most interesting thought has crossed my mind, Luther. You must listen, no matter your feeling."   
  
Luther seemed intrigued by her statement, though Simeon had only trepidation. Luther sat down on the chair by his desk, and Simeon took the opportunity to move away from him, crossing his arms over his chest. Whatever Yuina's idea was, he prayed it wasn't a cruel one.   
  
Simeon had faced enough cruelty, he did not want to see it befall the poor creature in their grasp. He wished not to relive those horrid memories from his past, nor watch them come to life again. He lowered his head, saying a silent prayer as he anxiously tapped his fingers against his thigh.   
  
"We should have allowed the Hunters to tear that village apart," muttered Luther, leaned against his desk. "Break open their skulls and search the lining for eyes. We should go back --,"   
  
"Going back would be foolish," admitted Yuina, her eyes wide. "Even if they are fishermen and peasants, they still could attack us."   
  
_Good_ , thought Simeon.   
  
"Perhaps a deeper hypothesis," said Yuina, her head tilted curiously. "In our teachings, our few and far between tidbits, we proved that a Great One long ago had impregnated a mortal. Some kind of. . . liaison between Pthumerians and the Great Ones, with our evidence proving they once shared a homestead. . ."   
  
"Yes, and?" Luther seemed impatient, no doubt. They had learned this from the teachings of Willem, but Simeon had not paid close enough attention to understand any of it.   
  
Truthfully, he did not wish for godhood or communion if it meant slaughtering or torturing an innocent creature. He loathed to think of what happened in the place they had plucked him from. He though again about that brief vision he had seen when he stared into the creature's eyes. He thought about the crashing of waves on a beach, and blinding colored lightning showering the skies with cosmic light.  
  
He blinked, and it was gone.   
  
"By the gods, Yuina." Luther shook his head, but Simeon had missed entirely what she had said.   
  
"It's a theory."  
  
"A theory!" Luther was grinning, despite his shocked tone.   
  
Simeon looked over at Luther, eyes narrowed in confusion. "A theory of what?"   
  
"Our teachings led me to believe that it is not blood we seek, but the umbilical cord of a surrogate Great Ones' child. Was that not why we sought out those rumors? We returned with an adult creature, rather than an infant. Perhaps it must now produce one."   
  
Simeon was not following at first, though he recalled the hushed conversations behind closed doors in Byrgenwerth, as Willem deduced every possible outcome of what could enlighten them. He could remember chasing shadowy rumors of godlike beings into deep recesses of the world, but finding nothing. Hunters they had paid to seek out and bring forth those creatures, Simeon found them despicable, as they once were there to protect the world above from the illnesses that bled into the depths of the tomb of the gods.   
  
Once he grasped what she had said, he grimaced.   
  
"Against his will?" Simeon struggled with that concept. The thought of them subjugating the creature to something so incredibly tactless and evil. . .   
  
"We don't know what it is," said Yuina angrily. "It's a creature. We don't know what sort of parts it has."   
  
"And if it's amorphous, then you've lost your lead," snapped Simeon, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "This is your plan, Yuina? Torture, blood-letting and rape?"   
  
Luther raised his hand. "Enough. Simeon, remember your place here. You may be a student of Byrgenwerth, but only by a handful of coins to your last master. Yuina, your plan could be executed, if we knew more of the creature's gender." To Simeon, he said, "If you are so concerned about our methods, find out this one last piece of information, and consider your debt to us paid."   
  
Simeon's heart stuttered. "I-I'm sorry?"   
  
"Freedom, Simeon. Surely you remember what that word means?"   
  
_No. I don't._ Simeon's eyes softened. The creature's dignity and life for his freedom. He found it an eerily sickening trade, one he would not do lightly. He hung his head, his expression portraying his true feelings.   
  
"I feel we're close," said Yuina. "My sister remains at Byrgenwerth, awaiting answers. Her loyalty to Willem and to us must not be in vain."   
  
Luther patted Yuina's shoulder affectionately, which only made Simeon feel that much more betrayed. "Yurie would be proud of you."   
  
Simeon looked away.   
  
"You have orders, Simeon." Luther's eyes narrowed at him, and he swallowed a growing lump in his throat. "You wish to baby the creature, so be it. Grow close to it, and you shall have your wish -- freedom, from Byrgenwerth."   
  
Simeon's heart sunk so low, he felt it sitting at his feet. A wave of bitter emotion settled over him, that made him both nauseous and exhausted. He returned his hands to his sides, his hands no longer curled in fists. Yuina beamed with pride, as if she had solved every last problem of the world, and Luther looked down upon her like a proud father. Simeon could fathom cruelty - he had tasted such before. But, he could not grasp this.   
  
Though, freedom was something he had been desperate for. Desperate for a very long time to return home. Maybe he had family there, still alive and away from enslavement. His hands had begun to shake again, and he turned away.   
  
"I will get to it, then," mustered Simeon quietly. When he turned away, he could hear their excited murmurs reverberating off the walls as he walked away. 

He rounded the corner to a long hall, far up from the ground floor. His boots walked across a puddle of water, dripping down from the leaky roof above. He tried desperately to keep his hands from shaking, but he could not. His mind was addled with visions, and the creature's endless blue eyes. He felt pulled into them, as if he were falling through the sky, down into the arms of an endless dark ocean. His mind had never been so occupied by such an experience. It felt as though he was dreaming, though wide awake.   
  
Churning up his thoughts once more made him stop walking. He grasp the banister, taking a slow, deep breath. He prayed, though he wasn't entirely sure to who, before continuing into one of the little laboratory rooms. He gathered up injury ointment and gauze into his arms, taking a suture kit in case he would need that as well. He wasn't sure that the creature would let Simeon get close to him, but he would try.   
  
He raised his head, and his eyes found a mirror, hanging on the wall. Dark brown hair clung to his forehead, so he pushed it back, a loose wave falling in his face. His narrow features were accentuated by a lack of nutrition and sleep, while his startlingly green eyes were surrounded by dark rings of sleeplessness. He stared at himself, if only for a fleeting moment, his lips pulled downward in a deep frown that created wrinkles in his skin. He stared until he could no longer look at himself, as the shame of what had been asked of him caught up to him.   
  
He prayed again. This time, for clarity. 

___________________________________________________

Silas sat at the bedside of the slumbering woman for three days. He seldom slept, and the Shaman would bring him food to coax him into eating. He had left only once to gather a small batch of candles he had made, to burn them in the room as if to wake her up that way. He found himself oddly obsessing over whether or not she was able to wake up, or if she was in some kind of endless slumber. Perhaps she was cursed, or. . .   
  
His thoughts trailed off. Exhausted, he sat back in his seat, staring down at her once more. Her face had become flushed with life, warmth flooding her once startlingly white complexion. She had only moved her head once, and it was only a slight shift to the right. Her breathing was still steady and consistent, so he couldn't assume that she had somehow died, and they were just sitting around her body. Every so often, he would reach forward and lay a hand on her arm, but her temperature did not change.   
He desired to sleep, but he found his dreams replaying the moment he walked onto the shore and found her laying there, over and over. His mind had seemingly been corrupted by the nameless woman, washed ashore in his little fishing hamlet.   
  
Word had gotten out that Silas had discovered a woman, and several people had stopped by the Shaman's house to offer a prayer in support for her quick awakening. The good hearts of the people around him never ceased to amaze Silas. It was part of the reason why he loved living there so much.   
  
The Shaman would come in and burn incense and what smelled like sage, a cleansing and warm welcome to her, as if protecting her from evil. Silas wondered if the Shaman thought she was being held down by an evil spirit, somehow trapped inside of her.   
  
However, the Shaman simply told Silas, "She will awaken when the time is right."  
  
And it came upon a very cloudy morning, as Silas was slumbering away in the chair beside the nameless woman's bed, when a stirring roused him, and his tired eyes came into focus. His eyes, through dim candlelight, met a pair of emerald green eyes, that seemed to change more into blue, then back to green the more he stared at them.   
  
The woman's eyes had opened, her mouth slightly open as if to say something, but was somewhat captivated by her surroundings. She slowly looked over to Silas' left, then back to him.   
  
Silas leapt up, startling both himself, and the woman, the chair nearly tipping over behind him. "By Kos!"   
  
The woman slowly began to sit up, but Silas reached for her.   
  
"Slowly, slowly! You've been. . . you've been asleep--,"   
  
She blinked a few more times, her eyes adjusting to the light of the room. Then, strangely enough, a smile pulled at her lips, and she peered back up at him.   
  
"Where am I?" she asked, her voice gentle.   
  
Silas wordlessly stared at her, before shaking himself loose of his trance. "A fishing hamlet, my lady. You. . . you washed ashore, nearly four days ago."   
  
"Four days!" the woman laughed, and it was a very welcomed, warm sound. "I must have been quite tired."   
  
Thousands of questions wanted to pour from Silas, but he refrained. She had just woken up, he wished not to overwhelm her. He pulled the chair back forward, towards the bedside. When he sat back down, he brushed his palms over his pants, pursing his lips.   
  
"You washed ashore," repeated Silas, "from the ocean. Were you shipwrecked? Or cast overboard?"   
  
She thought about this for a moment, looking a bit perplexed. "Neither."   
  
"But. . . how did you not drown?"   
  
"The ocean could never harm me in such a way." She smiled at him again, looking over at the little table by her bedside. "That's lovely." She pointed to the cairn and the burning candle. "Smells of lavender and lumenwood. . ."  
  
"I made it," said Silas, and she looked back at him with a broadening grin.   
  
"It's excellent!"   
  
He laughed. "Thank you. Pardon me a moment, milady, I need to seek out the Shaman who owns this house. He will want to speak with you."   
  
"Aah, yes. Please do." She sat up a bit straighter, leaning back against the wall, but keeping the sheets near to her. Silas wondered if she was cold.   
  
Silas excused himself, searching the house for the Shaman. He found him in the kitchen, brewing more tea.   
  
"She's awake!"   
  
The Shaman looked over his shoulder. "Yes, good. The tea is just about finished."   
  
The woman sitting on the bed looked around the room, her eyes fixating on every little detail: the thick, red drapes covering the window; the wooden walls that still looked like trees; the little rock statue sitting on the table beside the most beautifully scented candle; the creaking of the house as it settled against the wind outside; the piles and piles of books in the corner, overflowing from a little table. As if in a dream, she thought about opening her eyes for the first time, and seeing the fair face of the man sitting across from her, waiting for her to wake.   
  
He was a handsome man with dark skin and dark hair, and a gentle smile that made her feel as safe as the ocean did. She couldn't ever recall hearing his voice in her slumber, but he had a pleasant one nonetheless.   
  
When Silas returned, the Shaman followed, and the woman grinned again when she saw him.   
  
"Shaman," she said, and the Shaman tilted his head curiously.   
  
"Indeed. Are you hurt?"   
  
"No," she replied, "rather, I feel very well. All of my thanks must go to you for bringing me here, I fear I would have gotten lost had I woken in the wilderness."   
  
The Shaman chuckled. "But of course. Silas discovered you, washed up. You must thank him."   
  
"I plan to." When she looked at him again, he could not help but smile. "You've burnt sage over my slumbering body, and set a cairn beside my bedside. I believe you both are quite religious?"   
  
"The cairn is a sort of gift," said Silas, after the Shaman had nodded to him to explain. "We make them, well, the Shaman makes them, as a gift to the Great One, Kos."   
  
At the name, the woman's eyes and smile grew wide, and she sat up a bit further. "It's lovely! The incorporation of those little shells is wonderful. An earnest thank you to you both."   
  
The Shaman looked at Silas, just as Silas was looking at him, a confused look on his face.  
  
"Forgive me, milady, but where are you from?" asked Silas, and she laughed again.   
  
"Now, there's a complicated question." She brushed her hands over the bedsheets below her, before raising her head back up to look at him. "I wish not to explain it, should your head cave in upon itself."   
  
"My. . . head is just fine, thank you," replied Silas, and the Shaman took a step towards the bed, bending down to look into the woman's eyes.   
  
"Can I get you tea, milady?"   
  
She frowned. "I. . . yes, please. You needn't wait on me."   
  
"You need to rest," replied the Shaman, "one can assume you've had a most difficult past few days, or perhaps life."   
  
"My existence has been quite well," replied the woman. She looked over to Silas, who had leaned back in his chair and was simply inspecting her with his inquisitive eyes.   
  
"What do they call you?" she asked him, and he flushed.   
  
"Oh, my name. My name is Silas. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." Silas stretched a hand out, and she shook it, though confused as to why. "And it would appear you. . . know the Shaman."   
  
"Yes, very well."   
  
The Shaman now finally looked just a touch appalled. He stared at her with intent eyes, as if trying to decipher her thoughts. She had a familiarity to her that he could not place, so he elected to stay quiet.   
  
"He has been making these cairns for so long, and I've wanted to see them in person. I have heard gentle prayers from him for years, and each time they grace my ears, they become more and more selfless. A gentle man, with a wisdom that surprises even me." She spoke as though she was from a different world. A different time. She had a wistfulness to her voice that nearly made Silas entranced with it, captivated by both her beauty, and her words.   
  
Hanging on her words, the Shaman seemed absolutely aghast. He exhaled softly, looking down at Silas.   
  
"What? What--," Silas stood. "Forgive me, milady. Who are you?"   
  
The woman smiled again, but there was nothing patronizing about her expression. It was as gentle as her voice.   
  
She said, with her voice like the ocean, "I am Kos."

  



	2. The Coast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simeon tries to communicate with the creature in the cellar; Silas and the Shaman seek answers on Kos' arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a boring chapter, so it took me forever to write. And THEN I lost a chunk of it in the Great Spectrum Outage of 2021, because my internet SUCKS. But, I liked this better, so it worked out! Anyway, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

The unforgiving cold came along with a blustering snowstorm, covering the seemingly endless forests around that desolate research tower. The echoing of footsteps and bustling of bodies kept themselves warm by moving constantly, trying desperately to occupy themselves from both the cold and the oddity that now lie in their cellar.   
  
Simeon had locked himself away from any prying eyes, sitting in his own modest bedroom, leaned against a wooden chair with his legs drawn up to his chest, and his cheek rested on his knees. He was staring ahead towards the falling snow outside, trying desperately to remember the sound of his mother's voice. When he was a child, did she ever speak to him in that gentle, motherly tone? He could not remember. Did she sing to him? Did she promise him everything would be alright? The empty, cruel pain that was left in his chest suffocated him, and he was left with warm tears streaking down his face. His mind went once again to the dissolute plan of his leader; the boundless blue eyes of the creature; the vision of the figure in sunlight beside a black ocean. He shut his eyes, wishing to feel something that wasn't unpleasant. When he could find nothing in the inner reaches of his thoughts, he stood from his chair and wiped his eyes.  
  
He had come to the researchers of Byrgenwerth only a few years earlier. At first, he was captivated by the students and by Willem, until a noticeable line of decay began to eat away at that innocent furthering of education. He had seemed to notice, a bit faster than most, that they would do anything to be given eyes. Eyes to see things that only gods could see. Or perhaps, simply beings much greater than them. Simeon still wondered if they were even gods. Lured into his false sense of security, when he was hand-picked by Luther to break off and do their own research -- allegedly sanctioned by Willem himself -- Simeon was not given much choice.   
  
Now fidgety hands mindless tapped on the wooden desk before him. The drafty cracked window in his bedroom caused the curtains to blow, startling him momentarily. His room was a small one, with a bed, bookcase, table and chair. The table acted as a bit of a desk, housing books that he had read several times, and a journal that was almost always open, sitting in the center. In the spring, he had found himself a unique plant that he dug up and placed in a glass pitcher, but the cold had eventually killed it. He only had two sheets on his bed, which he loathed in the winter. He despised being cold, though he knew he was given the draftiest room. It wasn't much different than being in the hands of his old master.   
  
He stared at the window, then back down at the gauze and suture kit he had found earlier. He was mustering the strength to once again face the creature, though he was sure he would not be very receptive towards Simeon. He never considered himself to be very brave. He flattened his palms over his hair, pushing it away from his face. He had a small ceramic tea cup sitting on its matching white saucer that he had completely neglected, and beside it, his journal.  
  
He at first found it unwise to write his feelings in it, for they certainly did not align with Luther, nor his researchers. But, the thoughts dancing aimlessly in his head were hard to describe, and getting harder to comprehend. His mind had begun to ache, though he was no stranger to headaches. He prayed he wasn't going mad.   
  
He elected to close his journal, standing from his desk. With a shaking hand, he pushed his chair in, gathered his medical supplies, and walked to his door.   
  
With the materials gathered in his arms as if he were snuggling a newborn, he emerged into the empty hallway, the footsteps finally ceasing. He checked his pocket watch, and it was quite late. Flipping it closed and returning it to his pocket, he readjusted the supplies in his arms and began to descend the spiraling staircases, towards the ground floor.   
  
The old research hall did have its strange beauties. The stone walls had no doubt seen a great many different people, and maybe some of them were even good. Each room was marked with a mahogany plaque with gold writing, describing what each room was for. The staircases leading to the different floors were a fine wood, and spiraled around a massive spire in the center of the building. The inhabitants had populated each room and crevice with tables and chairs, anywhere they could study their books, notes and theories. The laboratories were broken down by number, and once, they were all used for different things, but now they all seemed to run together on their purposes.   
  
Simeon could remember clearly a time that he thought these halls were going to give him purpose. He felt silly now, as he truly thought he had no purpose any longer. He felt an empty shell of what he could have been, had he just been dealt a better hand. He certainly wasn't a good gambler, and he felt as though if fate or destiny were real, the had certainly found others to shower their good fortunes on.   
  
Maybe, he didn't believe in higher powers. Maybe he prayed to nothing. That certainly did not explain the Paleblood creature, sitting in their cellar with a festering wound and a knack for causing visions far beyond his understanding.   
  
The situation being what it was, Simeon could not simply ask the creature if it was God. Or if it knew of the gods. Or how any of it worked. The Insight, the Truth. He knew they had studied, waited and watched for a moment like this, but the thought of burrowing for Eyes to See, but disregarding what their very human eyes could see, seemed foolish and near-sighted. The creature, and its kin should it have any, would not give them anything but resistance. And if they were gods? What then? Could they punish mortals? Curse them for their insolence?   
  
Simeon stood at the threshold of the door to the creature's cage, pursing his lips as his thoughts had carried him there before he could talk himself out of it. Turning his body sideways, he opened the door slowly, but not before taking a slow, deep breath.   
  
When the heavy wooden door swung open, he stared ahead at the creature, whose head was hung lower than it had been, hands limp against the arms of the chair. For a fleeting and fearful moment, Simeon thought the creature was dead. However, the steady movement of his shoulders told Simeon otherwise.   
  
Approaching slowly, he sat the supplies onto the table across from where the creature was sitting. He noticed the needle still protruding from his arm, and the pronounced veins in his arm beginning to look sickly. Simeon's eyes narrowed as he grimaced, walking back to shut the door. His hands lingered there for a moment, before he felt eyes on him.   
  
Startled, he turned around, and the creature had raised his head, eyes staring at Simeon as if he could see inside of him. Simeon took a slow, deep breath, his lingering fear for the creature returning in a heavy weight on his chest. He walked forward, hands out in front of him as if taming a wild animal.   
  
"If we are to build trust," started Simeon, "we should begin with introductions. I'm. . . not sure if you can understand me, but. . . my name is Simeon. I come from a small town, far from here that I don't remember very well, and moved to a busier city with a man that purchased me a long time ago. I remember, he always wore a silk top hat, and rode in a fine carriage, with beautiful carvings on it. . . I don't remember much else."   
  
The creature stared at him, eyes still narrowed. Simeon noticed that he was only gripping the chair with the hand that did not have a needle in it. The creature did not seem to notice anything but Simeon.   
  
"I don't know. . . why I rambled." Simeon shook his head quickly, as if embarrassed. He walked up to the table, rolling out a piece of gauze and opening the suture kit.   
  
The creature craned his neck to watch Simeon, that subtle fear slowly building in his gaze. Simeon could tell that he feared torture, but looked as though there was something weighing heavily on him. He could see an emotion behind the creature's eyes that he struggled to place, but he knew he had seen before. It was almost as if the creature was in pain, but it had nothing to do with the wounds inflicted to it.   
  
Simeon turned around abruptly, and the creature startled, eyes wide. "I need to take that needle out, 'less you run out of blood."   
  
The creature's eyes narrowed again.   
  
"Ah, so you do understand me!" Simeon grinned, but it quickly faded as the creature did not look away, nor did he blink. He simply stared. "I don't want your blood, you understand. I see. . . there are a great many small parasites in your blood, and they seem to. . . quite like human flesh, so I'll just. . . be over here."   
  
He walked towards the creature, and was unnerved by the fact that he simply did not move. Only his eyes followed Simeon's every motion, watching as Simeon raised trembling hands to remove the needles from his arm. It was then Simeon noticed a strange symbol, just underneath the skin of his wrist. It was three vertical lines, all just around the same length, then another much lower down with a line curved upwards through it like a 'P', and with a single horizontal line through the center. It was most strange, and Simeon had never seen anything like it. He had seen brands and tattoos before, but this was not like anything he had ever seen before.   
  
He reached for the needle and slowly removed it, wincing when the creature did. "I'm sorry," he said, then removed the next one. "I really didn't want this to happen. Really, I didn't. I didn't realize there would be such an incredible lack of respect--," he quieted himself. He backed away from the creature, looking down at the wound in his leg.   
  
"I think they've gone mad," stated Simeon, "as if being under the influence of cosmic theories has begun to erode their minds. I don't think they act human anymore, but they instead act the way they think gods would act. They place themselves above all others, but I believe they are below the lowest of people. They are murders and plunderers, that is all. They care nothing of whom they hurt in their search for the Truth."   
  
The creature had nothing to add, but did turn his head away from Simeon. Simeon's eyes fell again to the shackles on his wrists, and had a most dangerous idea.   
  
"I could earn your trust," Simeon told the creature. "I could unbind you. And when I do, I could stitch your leg. Then, we could find you a warmer room to stay in for the night. But, I would need your trust for that."   
  
The creature did not seem to process what he had said, or perhaps it did, and just did not react. Quietly, Simeon stepped forward again, this time his fingertips gently grazed the shackles on the creature's wrists, and the creature grimaced. He carefully undid the heavy metal latches, his heart hammering in his chest, as he was fully expecting the creature to attack him. One hand free, he watched the creature flex its hand, but never took his eyes off of Simeon. He reached for the second, and when he dropped the shackles, he held his breath, waiting for the creature's next movement. He then sighed in complete relief, taking a step backwards as he watched the creature turn his wrists over.  
  
A brutally strong hand latched onto his throat, and Simeon let out a very muffled, choking cry, grasping at the creature's hand. The creature could not stand to his full height, but he still had a solid, painful grip on Simeon's throat. He had a fire in his eyes -- an anger that Simeon would never forget. It put a fear in him that he had never felt before. His skin felt alight where the creature was grasping him and he could scarcely breathe, both of his hands locked onto the wrist of the hand strangling him.   
  
Tears burned the corners of Simeon's eyes. "P-please!"   
  
Whether he lost his strength or his nerve, the creature released Simeon's throat, and Simeon dropped to the floor with a hand covering his nearly bruised neck, coughing to catch his breath. The creature slumped down to the floor, moving backwards until his back hit the shelves behind them. His eyes were filled with exhaustion and pain, lips turned downward in a pained grimace.   
  
Simeon could hardly stop shaking, shutting his eyes tight as he thanked whatever was out there that the creature had not killed him. When he could gather himself, he turned to look at the creature, and saw that the creature's expression was one of shame. Weakened, the creature shut his eyes and curled against the wall, his face buried in the crook of his arm, breathing heavily.   
  
"I just want to help you," choked Simeon, his eyes filled with tears. "Please. Let me help you. You will only hurt yourself."  
  
The creature pushed back against the wall further, shoulders moving up and down with each heavy breath. Simeon felt like crying - partly out of fear, but more out of remorse for the creature. He could fathom how scared the creature was. Simeon understood. He knew what it was like to be tortured. To be brought to a place against his will, and subjected to the whims of a terrible master. He knew.   
  
". . .Creature," said Simeon boldly, getting to his feet. His hands could hardly stop trembling, but the pain in his neck was beginning to subside. "Whatever you are. Unless your parasites can mend your leg, at least let me sew that. Please." He was never a commanding person. His voice cracked underneath the overbearing emotion he suddenly felt towards the creature. . . despite nearly being killed by it.  
  
The creature slowly raised his head from his arm, eyes filled with pain and a bit of remorse. He unfolded himself from against the shelves, laying his injured leg flat, but keeping his left leg bent at the knee. The already dark circles of his eyes had darkened, no doubt from exhaustion. It must have taken much energy and maybe an ounce of humility for him to lower his guard, if only for a moment, to allow Simeon to start slowly moving closer to him. He stared intently at the bruises forming on Simeon’s neck from where his hand had grasped, and Simeon felt a strange self consciousness that made him lower his head.   
  
Simeon set down the gauze and knelt before the creature, eyeing the wound nervously. The parasites had frightened him much more than he cared to admit, and the thought of growing so near to them put a fear within the pit of his stomach that he struggled to overcome. He reached a steady hand forward and placed it just by the wound, pushing the creature’s leg down. The creature’s nostrils flared with apparent anger, but he made no sudden movement against Simeon. The creature’s skin was cold, even through his torn trousers, Simeon could feel how cold he was.   
  
It was only by some kind of miracle that Simeon was able to control his shaking hands long enough to suture the wound, with very minimal pushback from the creature. Simeon did notice that the creature was unable to look at the suturing, and kept tense like a child taking a needle. When Simeon had properly sutured the wound, he covered it and gave the finished work a small pat with the tips of his fingers, before leaning away from the creature.   
  
“. . .There. That should heal nicely.” Simeon looked back into the creature’s eyes, but the creature would not meet his gaze. It unnerved Simeon more that the creature was no longer meeting his eye far more than when he would stare. Simeon also realized that he had the creature’s blood on his hands, and in a blind panic, held his breath as if waiting to be devoured as the researcher had.   
  
However, it never came.  
  
The creature finally looked at him again, then down at his hands. Simeon quickly wiped his hands off on his cloak, shaking them as if they were wet.   
  
To the creature, he said, “Don’t look at me like that! I saw what your blood is capable of. I don’t wish to be eaten.”  
  
If the creature wanted to show any kind of emotion, it perhaps would have laughed. But it just stared at him, deadpanned. Simeon had run out of ideas to get a response from the creature, so he began to clean up his little contained mess that he made, and move the chair with the shackles on it to the corner of the room. He trusted the creature wouldn’t run, mostly due to the injury in his leg, though Simeon assumed that the creature wouldn’t be killed should he try to run.   
  
Maybe he had nowhere to go.  
  
Simeon gathered himself this time, taking a slow, deep breath before turning back to the creature. “I can offer you a room to stay in that has a bed and someplace to sit. I would have to lock you in, but it is still more pleasant than sitting here with needles pushed into you.”  
  
The creature turned his head away and shut his eyes, as if no longer desiring the company of the young researcher. He tried to move his injured leg, bending it at the knee only slightly before baring his teeth in pain. Hopefully those parasites inside of him could speed the healing process, if only by a bit.   
  
“I can give you a hand, if you would accept it,” offered Simeon, extending a shaky hand to him. The creature looked at it, but made no motion to take it. “It will be much better than sitting in this dismal room, creature. Trust me. And. . . please don’t take offense to my calling you creature, I’m just. . . unsure what else to call you. You look like a man, though I'm truly a fool for assuming. Should you have a name, I would be glad to know it.”  
  
The creature placed a hand on the shelf behind him and hoisted himself up onto his feet, his arm trembling underneath his own weight. He cautiously placed the foot of his injured leg onto the ground, as if testing how much weight he could put on it before he was in pain. Once on his feet, he looked to Simeon with reluctant and exhausted eyes, telling Simeon that he would follow.   
  
“Won’t you take a hand?” asked Simeon. “I can help you walk. I once had a wound in my leg like that. I know how difficult it can be to. . . get around."   
  
Though he was certain the creature could understand him, he made no effort to speak back to Simeon. Lips pressed together in a thin line, the creature looked angrily down at his injured leg, before back up at Simeon. Simeon took this (quite foolishly) as an invitation to help him, and he reached for his arm. Instinctively, the creature pulled back against the shelves, raising a hand as if to protect himself. Simeon startled, leaping backwards and covering his throat, terrified the creature might strangle him again. Simeon figured that his hands would never stop shaking.   
  
"I'm sorry," said Simeon quietly. "I just want to help you."   
  
The creature slunk back to the ground, laying his head back against the wall. He shut his eyes, a pained expression settling on his face. He laid a hand on his injury, glowering suddenly at Simeon as if it were all his fault.   
  
"I already asked you to stop looking at me like that!" snapped Simeon, his anger towards his colleagues pouring out before the creature. "I'm only trying to help you! If I were your enemy, you would have killed me and you know it!" Maybe that was true. He thought that the reason was more because the creature was weakened, and less that he had any care for Simeon. "I wish to take you to a bedroom. Where you'll be comfortable, and your leg can heal, and you. . . you treat me like I'm one of them!"   
  
The creature's expression momentarily softened, if only a bit. Eyebrows knit together in clear dismay, he looked to the ground and thought about what Simeon had said for a long while.  
  
Simeon took his opportunity, and walked forward, offering the creature his hand. The creature looked at it, his eyes no longer portraying that of fear, but rather pain, whether it be physical or emotional.   
  
"I'm not asking you to give me your trust unconditionally," stated Simeon, "I'm only asking you to take my hand."   
  
The creature raised his arm, hesitating only a moment, before grasping Simeon's wrist.   
  
Simeon expected to have another one of his incredible cosmic visions that he had earlier, when he had looked the creature in the eye. However, when nothing but the creature's icy grasp graced him, he was somewhat disappointed. The creature released Simeon's hand and grabbed his shoulder, causing Simeon to sway underneath the creature's sudden weight. He was tall but stocky, built muscular and fit, as though he had been a hard worker wherever he was when they found him. He smelled of salt water and ocean air, and a hint of something that Simeon could not place. He took a moment just to look at the creature, taking in his very human features. He had a strong jawline, but an otherwise soft face, with hints of dark stubble growing just slightly on his jaw and chin. He had thick, ear length black hair that curled just slightly up at his forehead and on the back of his head. He did not have narrow features like Simeon did, but they were defined. He was a very fair-looking man, if he truly was one. He had broad shoulders and nimble fingers, with dirty nails and calloused hands. He had fairly narrow eyes, but they were often times wide with fear or curiosity. He had very cold, very pale skin, but it was warming up the longer that he leaned against Simeon to help him walk. Simeon thought that was interesting, but was happy that the creature no longer felt like a corpse.   
  
And of course, he had the bluest eyes that Simeon had ever seen in his entire life. It was as if the ocean's waves broke in his irises, as they never stayed just one singular shade of blue. Sometimes they looked like the color of the sky in spring, and other times they looked like a storm brewing on the horizon. Simeon felt a fear settle over him when he saw the tempestuous color, but felt a certain warmth when they were the spring sky.   
  
Simeon helped the creature from the room and into the hallway, looking both ways before continuing, praying they would not run into any of the researchers. The creature was a heavy weight leaning on him, but he did well keeping himself up. It was as if his pride did not want him to rely on Simeon at all, but the pain in his leg seemed to win over his prideful nature.   
The room Simeon intended to take the creature to was just at the end of the hallway. It was technically what they had thought was a cell when they had first arrived at the research tower, but Simeon sadly tried to think about keeping the creature there. . . the door locked with a key. He remembered that much.   
  
He hated the thought of locking the creature in a room and leaving him at the mercy of the researchers coming and going, but if he kept the key with him, it would keep them from infiltrating and taking more of his blood, or worse yet, enacting Yuina's demented plan should the creature prove to be reproductive. So, he would take the key. If Luther wanted Simeon to earn the creature's trust, then Simeon would be the only one with access to him.   
  
The hallway finally came to an end, the room Simeon was taking the creature to just on their left. The key for the room was hanging on a little hook just outside on the wooden plaque. The creature dug his fingertips into Simeon's shoulder, and Simeon grunted, pulling him along carefully into the room. It was far draftier than Simeon had remembered, and he winced when he realized there were no windows, and it truly felt far more like a cell than a room.   
  
The creature pushed off of Simeon, sitting himself on the bed in the center of the room. His eyes were heavy-lidded and bloodshot, taking on an almost purple or grey tint. He splayed his hands against the blanket on the bed, then looked up at Simeon.   
  
“This has been a terrible introduction," muttered Simeon, shutting the door behind them.   
  
The creature said nothing, nor did he even look at Simeon. He seemed to withdraw more into himself, and Simeon understood. He couldn't begin to fathom what was coursing through the creature's mind. Simeon wished he would just talk to him. . . maybe partly out of desiring to be free of Byrgenwerth and their antics.   
  
"As I said, I am Simeon, and it really is a pleasure to meet you," he finally said, extending a hand, as if the creature would actually shake it. Instead, he stared confusedly at Simeon's outstretched hand, recoiling as though Simeon was about to strike him.   
  
"Oh!" Simeon startled, "no, I wasn't going to -- you shake it!" he took his own hand and gave it a single shake, showing the creature a typical, mortal greeting. The creature looked away quickly.   
  
"Yes, I suppose you would not want to shake my hand, and I can't blame you." Simeon stared down at the wooden floor, shifting his feet uncomfortably. ". . .I am going to leave you here, creature, but I assure you I'll return. And only me. You needn't worry about my colleagues, if I can even call them that. You have my word."   
  
The creature, of course did not reply. Dismayed, Simeon backed towards the door, hand lingering on the handle. He was not frustrated with the creature, but rather with the situation. He wanted to be spoken to, he wanted to know what it was he had seen. He, too, had questions that only the creature could answer, but he was not speaking. Simeon had that curiosity within him, but he also had a conscience, something that the other scholars did not have. He would not force the creature to do anything, but he would try his best to get the answers he sought out. . . and perhaps his freedom.   
  
He opened the door and left the room before he could convince himself to stay and agitate the creature further. He locked the door with that little silver key, hanging on the hook just outside, and pocketed it beside his watch. He looked back at the door, wanting more than anything to go back inside. He did not want to leave the creature alone, for fear the other researchers would get to him before Simeon had a chance to. . .   
  
What exactly was Simeon's plan? He couldn't leave. He couldn't free the creature with his injury. He was placed in a poor situation with an even worse outcome, no matter how he altered the story. An anxious feeling had built in his chest, one he was quite familiar with.   
  
He stopped about halfway down the hallway and leaned over the balcony, sweating palms clenching the wooden banister. He looked down at the far away ground floor, his heart pounding in his ears. He took one hand and placed it where the creature had seized his neck, shutting his eyes momentarily. He wondered if the creature had his full strength, would he have killed him? Was the creature simply as savage as Luther? As Benedict? Maybe. Simeon certainly did not wish to find out.   
  
He stood up straight, taking a deep breath. When he returned to his room, he opened the window, and welcomed the cold, winter air into his much-too stuffy study.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Silas had many thoughts that accosted his mind all at once, but they seemed to disappear within seconds of him thinking them. He stared blankly at the woman before them, his open as if to speak, but the words would not come out.   
  
He had seen heresy and dissension before, but it certainly did not look anything like the woman before him. She was not blaspheming against the Great One Kos, but rather, she seemed entirely earnest in her claim, and Silas found himself incapable of thinking out another explanation, so instead he found himself believing her.  
  
And the way she looked at the Shaman, with those bright eyes and that warm smile, he found himself incapable of even speaking. She, no doubt, was touched by his devoted acts towards her - his many, many shell and rock cairns and prayers that must have reached her. . . should she be telling the truth. Though, Silas had little reason to believe she wasn't.   
  
As if trying to find a respectful way to ask if she was telling the truth, his eyes raced back and forth. When he finally gathered himself, he raised his head, and she was still staring at him, her eyes soft and expression still so warm.   
  
The Shaman finally moved, and his motion was one of respect. He knelt before the woman before them, lowering his head in pure reverence. Silas followed suit, though he was unable to close his eyes as the Shaman did.   
  
Kos' eyes widened, her hands and head shaking. "No, stand, please. I'm undeserving of such an introduction. I am as you are now, so there is no reason to react this way."   
  
"Forgive me, Lady, but there is quite the reason," said Silas quietly, his heart thundering in his ears. "And forgive me if I have spoken out of turn."   
  
"I owe you much," said the Shaman, his head still bowed low.   
  
Kos' expression softened. Her eyes portrayed such emotion, as they were quickly flooded with tears. She stood, walking to the Shaman. She knelt before him, laying her hands on his cheeks. She raised his head, her smile soft and her aura gentle and warm.   
  
"You owe me nothing."   
  
Silas stared in awe at the mortal Great One, his breathing labored as he tried to comprehend all he was seeing and feeling. He rose from his knees, just as Kos stood and faced him. She looked up at him curiously, as though she had not fully known his secrets as she did the Shaman. But then, that knowledge fell upon her eyes, and she shook her head gently.   
  
"The peaceful candlemaker," she said, "I find this most appealing. One can never have too many candles."   
  
Silas laughed, a nervous, short laugh. "I would pray you find them so. Idle hands make for dangerous men."  
  
"Yes," agreed Kos, "but you are not a dangerous man, not in the least."   
  
"Thank you," stammered Silas, and Kos cocked her head curiously at him. "If that was to be a compliment, of course. If it wasn't, then--,"   
  
Kos let out a very small giggle, and he cleared his throat. "It was. Men could use to be a little less dangerous."  
  
"Indeed," agreed the Shaman. "Lady Kos, might I get you some tea? Or coffee?"   
  
"Coffee!" Kos beamed proudly. "I've never had it. Nor tea, but I'm far more familiar with it. Coffee sounds quite lovely."   
  
Silas moved suddenly as if to leave the room to grant Kos her request, but the Shaman stared at him with a frown, and he sat back down on his chair, eyes still wide with the settling shock that a Great One was in the room with him. The Shaman simply chuckled, shaking his head as he left the room.   
  
Kos sat back down on the bed, staring up the walls, up to the ceiling. It was nearly impossible to read her expression, but the best way Silas could describe it was wistful. She looked around that dreary little wooden cottage as though she was staring at an endless field of flowers with the sun rising behind it. As if something great were about to transpire within its walls. She raised a steady hand and placed it on her chest, her heartbeat touching her palm.   
  
"Such small things, mortals. Small, beating hearts. Cold skin flushed with life. Blood in our veins." Kos grinned again, shutting her eyes.   
  
". . .D-did you not have these things? I mean, when you were - not that you aren't a Great One anymore--!"   
  
"Silas," said Kos, turning her head towards him quickly. To hear her say his name brought him a strange and pleasant feeling. "I won't bother you with the weight of all I know. I'd be fearful what it may do to your mind. Shaman is a warm presence, as are you. I needn't lose you to the frenzy of Insight. Not while I've just arrived!" Her smile widened.   
  
Silas' heart stuttered. He nodded. "I'm sorry. My curiosity has gotten the better of me. You should rest, I- I'm sure you've had a. . . long journey?"   
  
She frowned, tilting her head. "I don't remember. In truth, it felt as though I just fell asleep. Then, I woke here, with you. A most pleasant sight to wake to."   
  
Silas felt his cheeks burning. He turned his face away from her, fearful the blush would show. “I’m sure you would have preferred to see the ocean. Or the sky. Waking in a stranger’s home must not be your first choice.”  
  
Kos looked at him rather curiously, her head tilted like an inquisitive child. “Tell me, Silas: what makes you think I do not know you?”  
  
A warmth spread over his body, like a blanket in the cold. Pressing his lips together, he looked over at the doorway, as if asking the Shaman to come and rescue him. When he looked back at Kos, she was smiling.  
  
“Very well,” said Silas, “what do you know?”  
  
“I know you’ve been to war,” she replied, “and I know of the horrors you saw. I know of the friends and comrades lost beneath the banner of an evil dictator. I know you prayed for them — I heard you, Silas. Every fragmented and anguished whimper in the dark of night reached me in the depths of the cosmos. And I know you barely knew me. You only knew of my name, as it came to you in a foreign land, in a florid dream. I know you, but I wish to know you more — the man who woke me from my slumber.”  
Silas had not realized it until he felt the warmth on his cheeks, but his eyes had filled with tears. He exhaled, and it felt as though he exhaled a great weight from within him. The aching in his heart; the horrid images of his comrades laying around him; the blood covering his hands; the little boy turned spy — dissipated before him like vapor. Breathlessly, he leaned back in his seat, eyes wide.   
  
“I am in the presence of a god,” murmured Silas, laying a hand over his heart.   
  
“I am surprised!” chimed Kos happily. “I expected your mind to. . . well.” She laughed quietly. “Your strength is in your spirit and your mind. A man not too boggled by what lies beyond the veil.” Kos stood, brushing off her white dress (though it was still smeared with dirt and sand. “Etiquette of mortals and our etiquette is very different, so forgive me if I’ve seemed rather. . . unsightly. Or rude. I must learn, like any newborn human child.” She paused. “. . .I did have a beating heart and a working mind when I was in the Great Deep. I could tread water made of stars and feel blood in my veins, but I did not feel alive. I could hear things - faint, fine things, just gleaned from mortals—,”  
  
The Shaman returned with a cup in his hands. Kos’ eyes widened, as she took it from him and held it in her palms. “Please, continue,” said the Shaman, sitting in the chair beside Silas.  
Kos grinned. “Thank you, Shaman. I’ve never had coffee before. I. . . don’t remember what I was saying — most likely wasn’t important then!”  
  
Silas raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no. Cosmic theory and truths are hardly important.”  
  
The Shaman frowned at him again as a disapproving father would stare at his son. “Sarcasm does you no favors, Silas.”  
  
“Forgive me, that was not my intention—,”  
  
“I quite like the wit,” interjected Kos between sips of her drink.   
  
There was a silence that fell upon the trio, as the two men watched the young woman sip her coffee and look about the room with her wistful expression. She was simply a mortal, as there was not much special about her to the naked eye, aside from her crystalline eyes that varied between green and blue, it simply depended on how the light hit them. She had long, long dark hair that curled a bit at the bottom, landing in the middle of her back. She was of a stockier build, but still fairly short and petite, with very pale skin that was slowly gaining warmth as she spent more time in the warm house. She had a soft jawline but high cheekbones, with almond shaped eyes that wrinkled and nearly disappeared when she smiled, with dark, thick eyelashes guarding them. Silas found himself taking in every detail of the young woman, as he hadn’t seen someone that looked like her in his life.   
  
Quietly, the Shaman moved the curtain and looked out the window, as rain had begun to steadily fall. He looked as perplexed as Silas did. No doubt they were wondering why she was there, and more importantly what her intentions were should she remain. The silence between the three had become much too awkward for Kos, as she cleared her throat and smiled again.  
  
“I should have asked if it was alright that I stay here a while,” she said, looking down at her hands. “In this hamlet. I can find other board, as not to put you out, Shaman.”  
  
“Put me out!” declared the Shaman, “hardly! All of what you know of me, what you have listened to. I owe much to you, Lady Kos. You are free to stay here as long as you would see fit.”   
  
A smile most difficult to read pulled at Kos’ lips. "That means more to me than I think you will ever understand, Shaman. And I mean this."   
  
Kos stood, setting her mug on the table beside the bed. "I might take a walk down to the shore. I could use the air, the insight. . ."  
  
"M'lady, it is getting dark," said Silas quickly, then begged her pardon as he feared he had been rude. She laughed softly at him.  
  
“No offense taken,” she assured him. “Is it unsafe to travel at night here?”  
  
The Shaman laughed, shaking his head. “No, my dear. It is the safest place you will find. He only means traversing the hills at night can be quite dangerous.”  
  
“Yes,” stammered Silas, nodding fiercely.  
  
“Then I’d ask kindly for a guide.” Kos raised her head and stared intently at Silas. “You know your way about the hamlet, no doubt. I just. . .” her eyes became guarded, a shaky hand laid on her own stomach. “I wish to see the ocean. I have a great need for it.”  
  
The overwhelming feeling of guilt washed over Silas. He nodded quickly. “I’ll escort you, before it’s too dark to see.”  
  
Kos raised her head, a small smile replacing her once large, bright one. Her demeanor softened so quickly, Silas worried for a moment she may begin to cry. “Thank you. The ocean calls, I mustn’t ignore her plea.”  
  
Once more, Silas found himself incapable of mustering a word. He stood, looking over at Shaman as though to get some kind of permission to leave. When the Shaman said nothing, Silas was left with only one solution. He would take Kos back to the sea, though there was a greater part of him that feared she would walk into it and never return. That her arrival was only a small fraction of his life that he would truly never forget. He then feared that Kos knew his thoughts, and she would know he did not want her to leave. How foolish he would seem to her.   
  
To the Shaman, she smiled once more. "Won't you come with us, Shaman?"   
  
The Shaman shook his head. "No, this is a journey you will take only the two of you. I am overdue for meditation, despite my greatest inspiration of meditation and prayer is standing before me."   
  
"I shall still do my best to listen," replied Kos.   
  
"Bah. I needn't worry you with my mortal plight, now that you are dwelling among us as one." The Shaman walked from the room, not before gripping Silas' shoulder tightly, as he normally did. It was a small reassurance that Silas appreciated more than he wished to admit.   
  
Since arriving in the Hamlet, the Shaman had been like a father to Silas. This situation was no exception. The Shaman's gentle nature could not be _truly_ appreciated anywhere else. He had been a source of comfort to so many in the hamlet, Silas included. A man who dedicated his life to peace, the Shaman was one to be respected.   
  
Silas looked down at the floor, remembering that he was wearing a sensible pair of boots for their walk. He took note that Kos was barefoot, and her dress was a thin fabric that hung loosely off her frame. He pursed his lips.   
  
"My lady, would you like a change of clothes before we go?" asked Silas respectfully. He was quite taken back by Kos' sudden laughter.   
  
"Oh no! I don't think I have to worry about the common cold. . ." she blushed. "I appreciate the concern, however."   
  
"I'm less concerned about the common cold, and far more concerned with sharp rocks and bare feet," retorted Silas.   
  
"What a silly concern! If the earth bites you, you simply did something wrong." Kos crossed her arms across her chest. "You simply got in the way."   
  
Silas laughed. "Yes, I suppose that is a way to look at it."   
  
"Ah, not you, specifically," said Kos quickly. "Rather, mortals in general." She thanked him as he opened the door for her, and she stepped into the rest of the house, her eyes scanning the rooms around her. She seemed enthralled with the simple decorating of the Shaman, and the crackling fire in the living room. The modest decorations and dark oak furniture with the red sewn cushions. She looked over towards the kitchen, and the small table with four chairs pushed up to it, and a vase with a large, fresh flower in it. She thought that was most quaint and homely.   
  
"Who picked the flower?" asked Kos.   
  
"I did," replied Silas. "They grow large, even through the snow of the winter. They are most beautiful during the spring though, as the smaller flowers that grow around them are fragrant and colorful. . ." he paused. "I know this from making candles, you see."   
  
"Not from making bouquets for your beloved!?" asked Kos, visibly alarmed.   
  
"I haven't a beloved to gift them to!" Silas laughed. He once again opened the front door for her, and they found themselves standing on the edge of the hamlet's heart, the well in the center of the houses signifying the middle of their town.   
  
"How many people live here?" asked Kos.   
  
"Not many." Silas stepped down onto the slippery, muddy ground, offering Kos an arm to help her down the steps. "But enough to count us as a town. I know just about everyone here. We are a small lot, but a good one. We have no crime, no jurisdiction. No government. We all mostly consult with the Shaman, as he. . . well, he consults you. Or so we thought."   
  
"Oh, he did!" stated Kos happily. "It is hard to commune with Great Ones. We are often times difficult to find, and even more difficult to speak with. I've already warned you about the possibility of your mind caving in from too much knowledge, I need not repeat myself, I hope. But, you see, everyone here in this little town have so many different stories. Shaman has told me many of them -- I pray I can remember them all."   
  
Silas shook his head. "I loathe to think what he said of me. Even as a prayer."   
  
"We can speak on it at a later date. I don't wish to upset you. But, he said nothing unkind!" Kos looked up at the small hill before them, framed by a few trees with branches that had lost all of their leaves in the cold. However, the small path was still clinging to tiny pieces of green grass and spotty wildflowers. Silas loved that sight, and little did he know, Kos did too.   
  
"It isn't much to write home about," said Silas, "mostly because this _is_ my home. My only home. I'll treat it with respect, as anyone would. As anyone _should. ._."   
  
"Yes! As you should. You're an excellent heart, Silas, though I needn't tell you that." Kos continued to look around, while Silas kept his eyes to the ground. He did not want her to step on something, though he assumed after what she said, he did not need to worry about that,   
  
The sun, though still concealed by clouds, had begun to set, streaking what parts of the sky that were visible with a deep blue and flecks of orange and red. The smell of bread baking and fish cooking filled the air, as the houses that circled the well in the heart of the hamlet had begun to cook their dinners. Silas could recall in summer smelling the baking cherry pies from out of chimneys, and as the fall approached and the merchants that they often traded with on the other side of the forest surrounding them sold pecans and apples, and their resident pie-maker would make pies with them that tasted as amazing as they smelled.   
  
It took Silas a moment to realize he had said his thoughts out loud. He looked down at Kos, who took her eyes off of the road to listen to him.   
  
"That sounds lovely," Kos told Silas. "Do you have a baker in town then?"   
  
"Yes," replied Silas, "we have a few. They live together. It's a husband, a wife, and their young child who I'm sure will take up the craft. We all have something we make and sell to the merchants just past the forest that divides us from the rest of the world. They travel nearby on their ways to the bigger cities. The cities stay far more up-to-date with things than we do. However, I like the privacy of the hamlet. I would struggle in a bustling city. I've lived in one, once. Too many carriages, too many people. The best thing that came of it, though, was a man I used to live with in a big city had this thing -- phonograph, it plays music. I took it with me when he passed and I left, and I'm forever glad I did. Most of the music on its cylinders was music he had done himself. He was quite the violinist. I wish I would have the talent to learn something so delicate."   
  
"Candle-making is delicate!"   
  
Silas laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is. I'm sorry -- am I rambling?"   
  
"You are. I love every second of it."  
  
Silas blushed, turning his head away from her. Instead of taking her the dangerous route through the mines, he elected to take the lift that was hidden away in that small cottage, dimly lit by lanterns. He could hear birds chirping from overhead, gulls calling out from close to the ocean and doves in the trees on the path. Beyond that, he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears again, an anxiety building within him as they came closer to that little cabin. He couldn't help but stare down at Kos, as if trying desperately to read her mind as they walked.   
  
A Great One in the flesh, standing before him as though they were equals.  
  
Silas had once had that dream. He was standing in a vast, white lake, staring up at a swirling cluster of clouds. He could feel cold air from above, like the breath of a great beast. Faintly in the white light, he could hear singing. When he awoke, his skin was alight with a fever, and he felt ill. The Shaman had told him he had seen but a fleeting glimpse of what he could only describe as a veil. It had made Silas physically ill as he desperately tried to understand what he had seen. He barely remembered what happened. . .   
  
No matter. Kos had told him his mind was not capable of understanding, and he would have to accept that. He would take anything she said as law, as he knew in the depths of his soul that she truly was a Great One. A god, if you could call them that. He knew very little of what their purposes were, but he knew that he had more questions than he did answers, and had no respectful way to ask Kos. He could not wrap his tongue around the words - articulate them so they made sense. He could not without, forbid it, offending her. That scared him more than anything else. He wished not to offend her. She was a gracious creature, he knew this. And his heart would win against his gratuitous curiosity.   
  
They stepped into the cabin, and Silas took Kos to the lift. When they were back in the ice-covered caverns, Kos took the lead, no doubt knowing where she was going. As they stepped back out onto the beach, a smile most genuine and beautiful appeared on Kos' face, as she walked briskly towards the edge of the water, Silas hanging back just to watch her.   
  
The wind had picked up, tussling Kos' hair and pulling the waves up closer to her feet. Kos turned her head towards the water, shutting her eyes as the water touched her skin. She inhaled, the salt-tinged air, wrapping an arm around herself and raising her head as far as it would go into the air. When her eyes reopened, Silas was at her side, and she looked over at him, as he had approached her almost cautiously.  
  
"How lucky you are," she began, "to live so close to the ocean. The sea is an incredible being -- her wonders deep and vast, her secrets closely held. You can hear her from afar, and smell her salty sweet waves. The thought of standing in her arms is a piquant one, as I am sure she misses me greatly. I miss her, it would seem. Aah, but I speak of her as though she is a physical presence. I know, truly, she is not, but I treat her as such. She has an endless beauty I cannot touch. I used to tread her waters in a pool of stars. Waves crashing just above my head, while ships cast their shadows across the water. . . I always wondered how close I could get, before I was seen, if they could even see me. Perhaps, I was always invisible to the naked eye, and I was free to float about wherever I pleased.   
  
"You must think me silly. Prattling on about the ocean and her mysteries. But, a fisherman must know that to catch the great fish, you must go deep into the depths to find where they hide. Gargantuan beasts, yes, but the most beautiful creatures your mind has not thought of yet. Golden flecks across grey gills, bright blue fins with an almost eerie glow as it bobs beneath the surface. Then, as the sun set, the stars would appear. Scintillating, like lightning over the sea in a storm. I could see many things. What a beautiful sight. I am breathless to think of it."  
  
"I certainly do not find you silly, Lady Kos," said Silas breathlessly. It was true. As if the wind itself had left his lungs, he could not fight the heaviness in his lungs, his chest as he watched her. A tightening in his chest; a pounding heart; his palms slick with sweat. It was as the dream had made him feel, but he was not afraid. There was no fear in the presence of Kos, but rather a desire for calm, for peace. Her aura was a beautiful one, one that he could swear made her glow a soft, silver one, like the sun on the ocean's surface.   
  
"Then, what do you find me, Silas?" asked Kos. "You must have formed an opinion. I wish to hear it." It was not a challenge. She had not said such things to be sarcastic, nor cruel. She meant it honestly.   
  
He thought carefully on his words. He could say what he imagined any mortal man would say, and speak on her esoteric beauty, or perhaps the inhuman way she spoke. Chapped lips pressed together, the words once again not tasting right on his tongue. Like a sour wine not wanting to be swallowed, he could not bring himself to say anything. The overwhelming desire to once again kneel before her and kiss her hand as any mortal would do before a god overtook him, but his legs were much too stiff to move. Instead, he followed her gaze out into the horizon.   
  
"I will not ask you banal questions," replied Silas, "respectfully, I will not. You are here now, a mortal, and your choices and reasons are your own, as are your secrets. I believe that a mad man toils in secrets, dreams and mysteries. A wise man respects it from a distance. What we were not meant to know was for our own good. If you have come, truly it is a blessing, and to pour on you an incursion of questions and theories would paint me a fool. I wish to honor your presence, as praying to you was of a great comfort to me. What I think of you, My Lady, is nothing but true adoration and respect, and I hope my words have made such clear. But I will not dwell on the fact of what you are, but rather why you chose us to come to. Whatever you ask, I will get it for you, but you need only ask." He fell silent, looking down at her.   
Kos pondered his words. Her unreadable expression still facing the ocean, her fingers picking at the fabric of the dress at her leg. Then, she smiled again, sighing in what Silas could only describe as relief.   
  
"Won't you be my friend, Silas?" asked Kos. "I've been very lonely. Standing amongst mortals has been most refreshing, as I was lucky enough to find kind ones. Won't you keep me company as I remain here?"   
  
Silas suddenly frowned at her, his eyebrows knit together in obvious confusion. "Remain here? You're staying? I haven't taken you here for you to return home?"   
  
Kos laughed. "Oh, no! I'm not leaving. I have my purpose for being here, you see, and it's not yet fulfilled!" she frowned. "Truthfully, I'm unsure how I am to fulfill my purpose, but I will find out! I only hope I have a friend at my side to help me -- only if you would have me."   
  
Silas' heart capsized in his chest, and he nodded quickly. "It'd be an honor to be your friend."   
  
"Ha! The honor's mine, Silas, truly." Kos crossed her arms across her chest, shivering. "I was never cold in the embrace of the ocean, what is this!?"  
  
Silas couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips. "I offered you shoes. . . " he shed his coat and handed it to her, and she took it.   
  
"Thank you," she said, wrapping herself in it. "Yes, and I had an excellent reason for not wearing them."   
  
"Oh? I don't remember that."   
  
Kos huffed, crossing her arms back over her chest. "Stubborn! A glimpse at the real you, I'd bet."   
  
Silas flushed. "O-oh, forgive me--,"   
  
"Don't apologize, I like the quips." Kos smiled at him, turning away from the ocean and beginning to walk towards the caverns once more.   
  
"Are we headed back?!" called Silas.   
  
"I am," replied Kos loudly back to him, "what you do is entirely up to you!" She stopped, turning back around. "But, a friend wouldn't let another friend walk back through those caverns alone."   
  
Silas jogged to catch up with her. "I mean, you're right. But who's quipping now?"   
  
"Most certainly me!" declared Kos proudly, tucking her hands in the pockets of Silas' coat. "Oh! I've found a-- a small trinket!"   
  
Silas grinned. "Yes! That's a pocket watch, that is. It tells the time. Rather accurately, I'd add. I got it in a city, not too far from here The same city I mentioned earlier. It has a rose etched onto it."   
  
"I see!" Kos pressed her fingertips against the gold surface. "How beautiful." She pressed the button at the top, and it popped open. Her eyes widened, as she stared at the moving hands of the clock. "Time is such a fickle thing. Ever moving hands. Marching on and on. What a nice thing to keep in your pocket." She closed it and placed it back into the pocket of the coat.   
  
Silas remembered getting that pocket watch. It was the only nice thing he had ever purchased for himself. He felt that it was a frivolous thing to spend money on, but he fell in love with its intricate etching, so he bought it. And he was very happy that he did. It was a reminder that somewhere out there was a city, bigger than the hamlet, that he did not have to live in.   
  
"Was the city nice?" asked Kos.   
  
"No," replied Silas. "Too busy. Too many people, all stepping on each others' toes in the market districts. You can smell the smoke of the fires in peoples' homes no matter where you go, which begins to burn the lungs. Carriages on the streets are equally as treacherous for the feet! But, the merchants that travel through? Their merchandise? Incredible. I've seen so many beautifully crafted things. . . One man even had a sword, wielded by a knight from a far away land, a long time ago. . . it was. . ." he shook his head. "I'm rambling."   
  
They stepped onto the lift, and Kos shook her head at him.   
  
"No, you aren't," she replied, then frowned. "Well, you are. But, I like it. That sounds wonderful. I hope to go some day."   
  
"I would never take you to a city," admitted Silas, staring down at the ground. "I would keep you from the scoundrels that live there. They have nothing for you but their own selfish thoughts. And not pure ones, I'd add. I hate cities."   
  
"Yes," agreed Kos quietly. "I suppose you're right."   
  
As the lift ascended, Silas shut his eyes. He had a strange ringing in his ears since he had left the beach. It was beginning to sound more and more like a very soft hum, settling somewhere in the deepest reaches of his mind. It became louder as he tried to tune it out.   
  
Kos looked up at him, her eyes quizzical. She raised a hand slowly, her fingertips touching Silas' cheek. As soon as her fingers touched his skin, everything quieted, and his eyes opened. He turned his head, alarmed, then relaxed, exhaling gently. The Great One tilted her head at him, her fingertips lingering on his face, until her palm was placed flat against his cheek.   
  
He was lost in her eyes. Those boundless, sea-colored irises looking at him as though he were anchoring her to the ground. Inside of her eyes, he could see movement. Like figures dancing a complicated, graceful dance across soft sand, he could hear faint laughter and a dazzling night sky. Water swallowing him as he fell into a chasm within his own mind, stars glowing around him that moved like fish treading water. A voice in the darkness -- a small, gentle hand reaching out to touch his own. That abysmal ocean, no longer fearful but rather accepting. . .   
  
"Silas."   
  
He blinked, and it was all gone.   
  
Kos removed her hand from his face, as the lift lurched to a stop. She exhaled, her breath visible in the cold, damp room. He took a step back from her, and she looked down at the ground.   
  
"I'm fine," said Silas, and Kos nodded. "That was. . . strange."   
  
"You are so warm," was her reply. Quiet. Gentle.   
  
They left the lift room, and out of the cabin's front door. They walked down the slippery wooden steps, back onto that trail back towards the heart of the hamlet. Kos' head was still hung low, and Silas feared she was embarrassed. Perhaps she was trying to process what had happened, as he was. Perhaps she saw something in his eyes, though he found that unlikely. The warm feeling spread over him as it had in the vision, though this time it was fleeting and hard to grasp. He wished he could always feel that warmth, as it was like the summer sun on his face. He tried to cling to that feeling, but with Kos' hand no longer on him, he found himself unable to think beyond that ringing. The figures were gone, the stars were gone, the music was gone.   
  
He tried to remember every moment, no matter how trivial, as his curiosity tried its best to make sense of what he had seen -- and how he felt. He wanted to ask Kos what he had seen, but he made her an unspoken promise that he wished to keep.   
  
"Are you hurt?" asked Kos, grabbing Silas' arm. She quickly released it, fearful that he might have another strange fit. "Sorry."   
  
"No need to apologize!" replied Silas happily. "Of course not. Aside from your slightly long nails that I suppose could have cut my cheek, you certainly couldn't have hurt me!"   
  
"You jest."   
  
"No, I _quip_."  
  
Kos laughed boisterously, covering her mouth quickly. "Well, I'm glad. I was afraid I had-- oh!"   
  
Kos stopped short, and Silas nearly walked into her. Her inquisitive eyes wide. She dropped her shoulders, and Silas followed her gaze to see what she was gawking at.   
  
A large crowd amassed in the heart of the hamlet, all with eyes fixated on the arrived Great One. Silas recognized everyone -- the pie baker's family; the fortune teller with the startling silver hair; the widow with her young child; the man that made the woven rugs. They all stared on at Kos, their eyes reflecting reverence. Standing on the porch of his house, waiting for their return with a gentle smile on his face.   
  
Silas took a step back, as the crowd before them parted into two separate groups -- all with a line directly down the middle for Kos to walk. The silence that had fallen over them was one of pure respect and awe, no doubt acknowledging who she was. Silas had no doubts that the Shaman had told them of her arrival.   
  
It was like being back in that ocean. Kos' mind went to the creatures that gathered around her, treating her like she was their creator. They parted for her, bowed to her, when truly she just wanted to swim with them, dance with them in their cosmic flow. She stared at their faces -- each and every one of them. They were all looking at her as though she was the one thing they had waited for their entire lives. The weight that settled over her was great, but the relief pushed through as she looked over her shoulder at Silas, who nodded once to her.   
  
A sign of deep respect, no doubt. She looked back at the crowds, her eyes filled with tears.   
  
She began to walk.   
  
As she passed them, the crowd began to bow. One by one, each person that she looked at took a knee before her. They remembered. Every prayer, she could remember. The widow's midnight cries. The child's prayer she would find her lost doll. A vagabond's cry for home. She felt an overwhelming emotion flood her, her face wet with hot tears, as she wept for them, wept in joy for their love. She could never imagine such a response. As more took a knee, she stopped, covering her face in her hands, wiping the tears from beneath her eyes. When she raised her head again, she was at the steps to the porch, looking up at the Shaman.  
  
The Shaman took a knee.   
  
She looked over her shoulder, across the long path back to Silas. He had closed some of the distance, and was staring back at her with that same adoration.   
  
He took a knee. The last to, but she knew that was only because she would have told him to stand back up.   
  
It overwhelmed her. The wave crashing. The air pulled from her lungs. She wept, and she was not entirely sure why. That longing within her, the one she could no longer ignore. The pull in her belly. The bright, white lights dancing in the cosmos that all bid her farewell as she stepped into the darkness.   
  
She wiped her tears and turned to the Shaman. "This is the last time you bow to me, Shaman," she told him tenderly, but firmly. "Promise me that."   
  
The Shaman rose back to his feet, and nodded. "You mean much more to us than we can ever relay. This is only a modicum of the respect you deserve."  
  
"Hardly," replied Kos quietly. "Promise me you will treat me the same as anyone?"   
  
The Shaman looked appalled. "I cannot think of you in such a way. Rather, as a father looks at his daughter. With a love that he cannot fathom."   
  
Kos nodded. "I would love to know such love," she whispered, her emotions catching in her throat. She embraced the Shaman, and he wobbled just slightly, before laying gentle hands on her back. When she pulled back from him, she looked out over her crowd, and smiled. They had already begun to disperse, off to their lives once again. She found this most pleasant, as she did not wish to make a speech.   
  
To the Shaman, and to Silas who had finally made his way up to them, she asked, "might be go inside? I'm quite cold now." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cHOKE ME LIKE YOU HATE ME BUT-- oh, sorry, I just. . . uh. . . (you know the part)  
> I hope y'all enjoyed! Sorry about the slow burn. You're gonna start getting little tastes of things, but not the full thing yet! . . . if that makes sense. . . anyhoo. If you don't know, I'm on Twitter, be sure to check me out @happywalrider, I post fic updates, and I would LOVE to answer any questions you have, so long as they don't spoil the story! (:   
> Also, yes I listen to Corpse Husband. Not when writing this, though. Which reminds me! I have a fic playlist for this fic! Wow! Check out TVTA, fic playlist on Spotify!

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hope that wasn't too weird for ya. Be kind to me, yeah? My writing sucks. Hope you enjoyed, hang tight for chapter 2.


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